


The Other Side of Despair

by bluebright_l, Nomme_de_Plume



Series: The Pursued, the Pursuing - AU [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebright_l/pseuds/bluebright_l, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/pseuds/Nomme_de_Plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of our AU set during Prohibition in the US. Lots of crack ships, even more gratuitous violence, romance, and corruption, as well as some really nifty slang!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Day

Mya felt as though she were sitting before a strange, posh firing squad. Smoothing the skirt of her best dress over her knees for what felt like the nine-hundredth time that morning, she glanced around the luxuriously appointed room she was in. The secretary had called it an office when she’d led her in, but somehow that word seemed too... _pedestrian_ for such a setting.  
  
The room was huge, first off. Mya could’ve easily fit not only her dorm, but the house she’d grown up in well inside here. _Probably the whole street_. Strong polished granite pillars ran up the paneled walls, each topped with an engraved, stern face staring down at them. The ceiling fairly dripped with bright chandeliers, and the artwork...Mya tried not to gape, but she was fairly sure the clean, crisp paintings on the walls weren’t imitations or reproductions. The floor was marble, and had a pattern in it that it took Mya a second to figure out - it was a rose, an enormous rose done in what looked like gold leaf. When she’d glanced up, the same rose was mirrored in stained glass on the ceiling and now that she’d seen the rose one place, it was showing up everywhere. The wall sconces had it, it was engraved on the fine dark walnut furniture, even the water glass she held had the rose etched on it. It was the same one that adorned the upper right-hand corner of every copy of the _Kingsport Lantern_. Word on the vine was that the flower was a favorite of Mace Tyrell’s wife... _widow now_ , Mya realized with a sickening jolt, and she put the thought out of her head resolutely.  
  
She shifted on the silk chaise and looked across the wide desk separating her from the three figures on the other side of it like a moat. _Renly Baratheon, Loras Tyrell and...oh God what’s the girl’s name?_ Mya’s heart jittered somewhere in her throat. The three of them looked just as richly appointed as the rest of the decor, although it was slightly hard to tell. They sat before an enormous, curving window overlooking all of Kingsport through slightly wavy glass, and the way the sun backlit them made her feel very small.  
  
“So.” The oldest-looking of the three spoke,  his voice echoing slightly and scaring the bejeebus out of her in its suddenness. _Renly, that’s Renly,_ she reminded herself. _The late mayor’s brother...your uncle. Your_ uncle, _how odd is that?_ Mya gave herself a mental shake. This was no time to be dwelling over the secrecy of who her father was. Even after a month, the shock of that revelation hadn’t really faded for Mya. _Maybe if I’d just gotten a chance to meet him, see him even..._ Renly folded his hands on the top of the desk, looking at her frankly. He had the same dark hair as Mya, the same blue eyes, but his face was broader, and his lips seemed to be curved up in a smile.   
  
“Oh for God’s sake Renly, move on with it, would you? I’ve got an eleven o’clock tea time out in Stokeworth and I’m not about to let _you_ ruin my game for the third week in a row.” Loras broke the silence, sounding bored. He rose from his chair and gazed out the window, the morning sun glinting off his golden-brown curls as he yawned. “Plus you’re making the poor girl nervous, isn’t he, Margie?”  
  
 _Margie._ Margaery _, that’s what her name is,_ Mya remembered victoriously. The feeling was quelled as Margaery rose to her feet as well, looking down at Mya with deep brown eyes. Her hair was the same color as her brother’s, she realized, but where his curls were tumbling and loose, hers were neatly coiffed into the latest fashion, with a gold pin (again, with a rose, Mya noticed) holding a lock away from her face. Her suit was black, all clean lines and sharp shoulders and, Mya realized with some surprise, pants. _Is that what we’re supposed to wear now? Pants instead of skirts?_ She felt suddenly frumpy in her dress with the faint flower pattern on it, and uncomfortable. Margaery had the same face as her brother, both coy and cat-like with obvious intelligence behind their eyes and, she saw, they even carried themselves the same way. Lazily, but with all the grace of a runway model. Margaery tucked a black, heavily perfumed cigarette into an ivory holder, offering one to Mya out of an engraved gold carrier, smiling a bit when she shook her head and lighting her own.   
  


Renly made a face. “You know how much I hate those, darling.”

  
“Oh hush.” Margaery purred, resting a manicured hand on his shoulder. “But Loras is right, sweetheart, we are on a schedule I’m sure Miss Stone here is as well.”  
  
Renly nodded, shuffling some paper on the otherwise- empty desk. “Now, Mya, may I call you Mya?” He smiled at her nod. “Good. Mya, you come to us with some pretty high recommendations. Tyrion Lannister passed your name onto our father some weeks ago, and he had mentioned you to my wife and her brother and I shortly before he vanished. I apologize it’s taken so long for us to meet, but there’s been a lot of...” Loras cleared his throat, returning to the desk and giving Renly an unreadable look. “We’ve had a lot of shifting to do around here.”  
  
“Oh, that’s alright.” Mya said in what she hoped was an agreeable tone. “The last few weeks of the semester were busy for me anyway, but it’s really slowed down since midterms.”  
  
“Excellent. So, tell us why you want to go into journalism then.”  
  
 _This is it. This is what you and Roslin practiced until you were blue in the face and she’d fallen asleep. Don’t rush. You rush when you get nervous._ Mya swallowed, taking a breath. “I feel, very passionately, that the public deserves to know what’s going on not only in this city, but in the world around us. We’ve become a global community in the past ten or fifteen years, and it’s no longer the case where a prime minister overseas dies, and we don’t find out about it until months later. Now we get news of it within a day, sometimes quicker. I believe we’re on the cusp of a great breakthrough in keeping the people informed, and I want to be a part of it.”  
  
Loras crossed his arms, tapping his full lower lip with a finger and examining her. “And how do you feel about cover-ups?”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“Cover-ups, keeping the truth from the people.” Loras waved a hand. “Conspiracies, corruption, so forth and so on.”  
  
Mya shook her head, trying to swallow past the cold trickle running through her insides. “I- I don’t-”  
  
Margaery gave her brother a scalding look, inhaling on her cigarette holder. “Nevermind that question, dear. My big brother here sees conspiracy theories getting out of bed in the morning.” Her gaze flicked from her brother to her husband and back again. “Can’t imagine why.”  
  
Loras didn’t shrink away from his sister’s gaze, Mya had to give him that. “And my baby sister doesn’t think the rash of hush-jobs coming down from City Hall and Kingsport’s very own police force is anything to be concerned about.”  
  
“There are no hush-jobs, Loras. Ned Stark ran a clean ship, and Selmy’s doing the same.”   
  
“Then the police must be _completely_ incompetent then, Margaery. Think about it. They haven’t solved the murder of their very own chief or our mayor, I don’t think they even remember our father’s turned up missing, and every other day there’s some new dead hooker turning up with half her skin missing. So you tell me: do they have the collective I.Q. of an eggplant, or are there things we should know that we don’t? If there are no hush-jobs, then where is our father, Margie? Where’s Dad?”   
  


The pleading and anger in his voice made Mya’s throat close and she fought off the urge to break in and tell them exactly where their father was: half-encased in cement in the bottom of the bay, unrecognizable by now. The thought made her stomach turn.  _ God, how does Theon do it, keep quiet about all this without losing his mind? And he  has been working hard, Loras Tyrell. He’s working himself to the bone and I don’t know how much longer he can do it. He’s so worn out, my poor thing. _

  
“I don’t know where he is, Loras!” Margaery bit back. “God, if I did don’t you think I’d-”   
  


“Children! This is not the time or the place, if you please...” Renly held up his hands, and the two Tyrells fell silent. “Thank you. Now, Mya, we’re more than happy to take you on for the remainder of this semester and the next, and when summer comes, we’ll see where we are then. Does that sound agreeable?”

  
Mya’s heart soared high, largely eclipsing her worries about Mace Tyrell’s whereabouts and her constant concern over Theon. She let herself smile, and it felt natural for the first time in a long time. “Absolutely, thank you!”  
  
Margaery curled her lips around a smoke ring, watching it float lazily into the air. “Don’t thank us yet, kitten. You’re going to be doing a lot of grunt work, gofer things really. Wear comfortable shoes, is what I’m saying.”  
  
“That’s alright.” Mya heard the glee bubbling up in her voice and tried to keep a lid on it. _Don’t let them think you’re alright with fetching their coffee from here until forever. That’s not what you’re here to do._ “For now, anyway. I can’t very well start in this office now, can I?”  
  
Renly smiled and rolled his chair a bit away from the desk, pulling Margaery down into his lap. “If you can weasel me out of my office I’d be most impressed. I’d start smaller. Boot Loras out of his, and go from there.”  
  
“Oh ha _ha_.” Loras scowled at Renly, but only for a moment before he turned his attention to Mya. “You won’t be reporting to either Renly or I. Frankly, you’ll be too low on the totem pole for us to pay much attention to. He and I more or less run this paper now, and my little Margie here is just around to make the two of us look better.” He smiled at his sister, who didn’t quite return the sentiment.  
  
Renly gave Magaery’s hip a pat and nudged her off, standing an extending a hand. “Welcome aboard then, Miss Stone. I’ll have my secretary contact you with the details of starting, pay, so forth and so on.” He shook Mya’s hand, his own warm and dry, and she couldn’t help but smile brightly. “It’s a tough business to be in, but if you really keep at it, I think you’ll go far.”  
  
Mya felt light as air. “Thank you, all of you. I’m really looking forward to this.”  
  
“Come along, Miss Stone.” Margaery came around the desk, stubbing out her cigarette in the ash tray on Renly’s desk. “I’ll walk you down.”  
  
As the elevator cruised down the center of Tyrell Plaza, Margaery leaned against the wall of the elevator, arms crossed across her chest as she surveyed Mya. “Don’t mind Renly and Loras. They like to think they’re part of the Old Boys’ Club but really, they’d get laughed straight out the door. Make them take notice of you, and it’ll be worth it.”  
  
“Make them?” Mya eyed the taller woman. “How do I do that?”  
  
Margaery smiled, her mouth wide and sensuous. “You seem like a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”  
  
\---------------  
  


“So tell me again what trouble you’ll be getting into there.” Theon leaned against the wrought-iron fence  lining the Blackwater River in the heart of Kingsport. Japanese lanterns and small white lights hung in the yew trees lining the river reflected in the black water, and muted conversations from the small cafes lining the Riverwalk bounced back and forth softly. 

  
Mya dug her spoon into her snow-cone, searching for the last pocket of flavor in it. “I’m not one-hundred percent sure, truth be told. I imagine they’ll tell me my first day...” she bit her lip and looked up at Theon, lowering her voice. “They’ve got a huge picture of him in the lobby, with a candle lit under it. I’ll have to walk past it every time I go in there.” She tore her gaze away from his sharp one, looking out at the ripples in the river, the autumn-yellowed yew leaves drifting along the current. “Loras thinks there’s a cover-up and he and his sister both want their father back.”  
  
Theon tipped her face back up towards his a bit roughly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you don’t know where he is. You don’t know _anything_ about that.”  
  
“But...”  
  
“Mya.” There was a definite warning note in his voice now. “You know nothing, you hear me? _Nothing._ ”  
  
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m not as good a liar as you are, Theon. I’m scared I’m going to say the wrong thing and it’ll all come apart.”  
  
“That won’t happen, dove. Not if you keep your head down. Do that and you’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, alright? Just trust me.”  
  
 _Trust you. There’s a trap._ Mya mentally kicked herself at the thought. Theon had been nothing but honest with her since the incident with his family. Nevertheless, she still felt sometimes as if there was more to it, things she would never know about him no matter what he said in the quiet of their nights together, or the occasional off-the-cuff remark. _Stop it,_ she told herself. _You made a promise to him. If he asks you to trust him, trust him. He’s not about to let anything happen to you again_. Mya squared her shoulders and made herself smile up at him. “Absolutely I will.” Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him softly. “I do have a question though.”  
  
He looked down at her a bit apprehensively. “Hmmm?”  
  
“Can I try your gelato?”  
  
Theon grinned and offered his cup, but drew it back just as she dug her spoon into it. “Won’t your coach have your head? You and Roslin are supposed to stay trim, aren’t you?”  
  
Mya laughed and jabbed at his ribs. “Are you saying I’m getting chunky, Detective?”  
  
“God no,” Theon’s grin grew sharper. “If anything you could use a little meat on your bones.”  
  
“Then make with the gelato!” When Mya dug her spoon in again he didn’t take it away, and merely chuckled as she looked up at him from under her lashes. “Odds are I’ll just burn it off by the end of the night anyway.”  


“Is that so?” Theon raised his eyebrows. “Planning on some late-night drills then?”

  
“If you want to call it that, sure.” Mya surprised herself with her own cheek, feeling a warm flutter in her belly as his hand slid to the small of her back, fingers running lightly along her spine. “Care to join me?”  
  
“Of course I would!” Theon looked affronted. “Who else would help you?”  
  
Mya shrugged, feeling slightly reckless and a little punch-drunk. “I don’t know, Detective, I’ve gotten quite adept at running self-drills when I need to.” She took a step away from him, taking his hand. “Now, shall we?”  
  
He didn’t let her get too far, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they wound down the Riverwalk. “So where are we going tonight, dove?”  
  
Mya thought, biting her lower lip. If they went back to his place she wouldn’t make it back before dawn, and she had a test early the next morning. The boardwalk was closed for the season, so that left... “The overlook, I think.”  
  
“My lady’s wish is my command.” He winked down at her and she snuck an arm around his waist.  
  
“Do you have any other errands to run tonight?” Mya kept her tone casual as they approached the Rolls.   
  
His hand tightened imperceptibly on her shoulder as he shook his head. “Not a thing, doll. Got it all taken care of.”  
  
Mya felt the knot in her stomach ease a little as Theon drove them out of the city. As an unspoken rule they didn’t much discuss the booze runs he made for his sister. The less she knew, the better. And she didn’t want to know, truth be told. She was acutely aware of how dangerous it was for him, and more than one night she’d lain awake consumed with the fear that he’d been found out, or worse, that he was laying dead somewhere. It never came to pass, though. Inevitably he’d call her in the morning, as alive and dryly sarcastic as he had been the night before. _Stop thinking about it. He doesn’t have anywhere to be tonight but with you so just stop it right now, Stone._  
  
Presently she felt the road give from asphalt to gravel under the Roll’s tires as Theon parked the car on a high bluff overlooking the city. He’d brought here there a short while after they’d started seeing each other, and it was one of her favorite spots. They could see the whole of the city from here, tiny and brilliantly lit up like a jewel. Theon never really cared about the view, and tonight was no exception. The engine was still grumbling with post-ignition as he caught her lips hungrily, long fingers already at work on the zipper of her dress. He slid her across his lap as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, rolling his hips against hers. “Why’s it seem like it’s been so long?” There was a small groan in his throat as she yanked his shirt open, trailing her nails down his chest to his belt.  
  
Mya smiled. “It’s been a whopping two days. If you miss me that bad after two days, you’re going to be up the creek when I go home for the holidays.”  
  
“Don’t even talk about that yet, dove. It’s only October.” Theon kissed her searingly, apparently trying to do away with conversation. He reached for the glovebox awkwardly, and when they wound up in a tangle of limbs across the bench seat neither of them minded. His fingers ran lightly over her thigh, hitching it over his hip as he pushed into her again and again, falling into a familiar rhythm that, to Mya, would never get old. She wiggled her other leg around him and felt him shudder at even the slightest change in angle, teeth closing around her collarbone.   
  
Her nails tightened on his ass, drawing him in deeper, and he groaned. “Jesus God, Mya...”   
  
“Let’s not bring the Almighty into this, alright?” Mya was breathless, nearly reaching her peak when a bright light suddenly shone in the window, and there was a metallic tap on the window. “What-”  
  
“ _Fuck._ ” Theon swore violently and stretched to reach the crank for the window, not stopping his thrusts into Mya. He managed to get the window halfway down. “We’re busy, now scram!”  
  
“Why don’t you kids take it somewhere more private?”  A raspy but amused voice sounded in the dark, the bright beam from a flashlight lighting up the inside of the car and Mya tried to turn her face away from it. _At least it’s not Robb this time..._  
  
Still muttering, Theon groped a bit blindly for his pants. Mya saw him reach into the pocket with one hand and pull out his badge. “Because we’re not kids, you mook, now beat it before I get your badge number and turn it over to Selmy!”  
  
When Mya hazarded a glance, she saw the police officer who’d interrupted them squinting at Theon’s badge, then his face. “Greyjoy? That you? Huh, I’m used to staring at your ugly mug, not your lilly-white ass bouncing up and down like a kid’s toy.”  
  
“Goddamn it, Trant, what’re you doing here?” Theon was bracing himself with both arms now, hips still rocking against Mya’s, albeit slower now. She just bit her lip, trying to remain quiet but if they didn’t wrap it up quickly, she was going to embarrass herself..  
  
“Just got a report of some indecent activity up here and I’m just doin’ my duty, Greyjoy, like you seem to be. But I’ll leave you lovebirds be this time. Just be careful, little missy.” The flashlight beam focused on Mya’s face, and she tried not to glare too hard. “Last thing we need is more Greyjoys running around.” Chuckling to himself, Trant turned and sidled away, whistling to himself.  
  
Theon glared after him, jaw set, momentarily pausing until Mya leaned up and planted a line of kisses along his jawline. “Leave it be, Theon.” She murmured. “We’re not doing anything wrong.” She saw him swallow hard, anger taut in his face before he turned back to her, eyes still dark.  
  
“He’s an ass.” He muttered against her throat, resuming his thrusting into her. “I’d bet my pension he’s on the Lannister’s payroll.” He gave a particularly hard push, and she whimpered at the sharp pinch.  
  
“Easy, Theon! It doesn’t matter, does it?” Mya curled her fingers around the back of his neck and ran her lips over his ear gently. “Don’t forget the task at hand, yeah?”  
  
He smiled his sharp smile and slid a hand up her side, easily palming her breast, cupping and reshaping it as their breathing grew heavier. “When you’re right, you’re right, dove.”  
  
After, Theon lay replete on Mya, her fingers brushing idly through his hair while he stroked a hip with no small amount of tenderness. “So what _are_ you going to do when I go home?” She asked.  
  
Theon sighed, his breath warm on her breast. “I haven’t a clue. Hit up some of my old haunts, maybe. See if the ladies still miss me there.” Mya smacked the back of his head gently, and he laughed. “Kidding, doll. I’ll just suffer alone. Not in silence though. I’ll call you up there on that Godforsaken mountain every damn day and tell you exactly what I want to do to you until you say to Hell with your ma and come back to me.”  
  
Mya giggled, resting her chin in his hair. “Good luck with that. They only just started getting phone lines to public places, much less my mother’s house.” She shifted under him until he lifted his head to look at her, brows slightly knitted.  
  
“Stay still, would you? You’re the wiggliest pillow I’ve yet had.”  
  
“Hush, you.” She kissed him, an idea forming. “Why don’t you come home with me then? To Eyrie. My mom wants to meet this fella I’ve been spending all my free time with anyway.” Mya watched his reaction. Taking someone home, she’d heard, was a big step and they hadn’t been together all that long. _Still, it’s not for another month, more than that, and it feels like it’s time. Mom asks about him all the time._  
  
True to what she expected, a brief look of blind panic crossed his features. “You...you want me to meet your mother?”  
  
She shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. “Where’s the harm? She’s worried you’re turning her sweet little girl into a woman of ill repute, and I want to put her mind at ease.”  
  
Theon chuckled and tweaked her nose. “You mean prove her right. Let me think about it, alright? I need to see what Robb and his family’s up to and if they can spare me for a few days.”  
  
“I hope they can,” Mya ran a finger over the faint stubble on his cheek, and she realized she meant it. “I really hope they can.”

 


	2. Gone Fishin'

It was too goddamn early to be awake, much less outside, but there they were. Robb had brought a basket of Kyra’s sweet rolls with him from the kitchen, but he wouldn’t let Theon have one until they’d made their way down the gently sloping lawn and were out of sight of the main house. Theon stopped a moment, bending to roll his pant legs up, though the hems were already damp with dew, and wiggled his bare toes in the grass. He was lucky he even got to pull a shirt on before Robb’d dragged him out. He’d been out late last night with Mya, too damn late, she had a test this morning, he remembered vaguely.   
  
A sharp whistle came from the bottom of the lawn, at the tree line. “I’m eating all these rolls myself if you don’t hurry it up, Greyjoy!” Robb waved at him before disappearing into the trees, juggling the fishing poles, tackle box, and basket of sweet rolls.    
  
Theon just shook his head, enjoying the feel of the grass beneath his feet and the smell of the river in the morning...some days, it almost reminded him of the bay, and not in a bad way. He liked hearing the rush of the water in his small cottage, the way the light off the river would refract and dance on his ceilings.  _That’s a Greyjoy thing, and no doubt about it. Born to the water, all of us_ ,  he thought ruefully. Ducking under a branch, he entered the fringe of huge old oaks bordering the river, the twisting dirt path familiar to him from years of following Robb down it.   
  
In fact, he actually kind of hated fishing, not that he’d ever tell Robb that. Where Robb found it relaxing and soothing, Theon found it, by turns, boring as hell and frustrating. But this was the first day off they’d had in...well, months, it seemed like, and if Robb wanted to fish, then they would fish. He broke through the other side of the trees, swatting lazily at a dragonfly that flitted around his head, and grinned when he saw what his friend had done. One of Catelyn Stark’s new Adirondack chairs from the back porch was plopped down in the mud at the edge of the river, with the basket of rolls set right in its seat and one of the poles stuck in the mud next to it.   
  
Robb waved from his favorite spot, a huge, flat rock set out in the middle of the river. “Got it all baited for you and everything! Bet I’ll catch twice as many as you!” He cast his line expertly, and it made Theon smile just to see the way he grinned at his own prowess. “And don’t eat all those damn rolls, either.”   
  
Theon settled into the chair, casting his own line with a flick of the wrist. “You don’t need any rolls, Stark. You’re getting a bit tubby, you ask me...and I don’t think Roslin likes tubby men.” He snickered when Robb shot him a rude hand gesture, putting his fishing pole between his knees to pluck a still-warm sweet roll out of the basket. “You put on much more weight, she might decide to find another-”   
  
“Fuck off, Greyjoy!”    
  
Robb was sensitive about Roslin, and evidently, about his weight. Theon let it go. The amount of noise they were making would scare off every fish for a hundred yards, and while he might not give a damn about fishing, he did give a damn about losing to Robb. He was determined to catch at least as many fish as him, if not more.   
  
They fished in companionable silence for a time, the burbling river and chirping of the birds the only sounds to be heard. After a bit, Robb whistled lowly, and motioned for a sweet roll, so Theon tossed him one underhanded, licking the icing off his fingers afterward. Robb was reeling in fish left and right, but Theon just wasn’t getting any bites, so he reeled his line in, intending to re-bait his hook. He looked disparagingly at the tin can of mealworms Robb had left him on the shore; white and limp, they hardly moved unless you touched them.   
  
“Hey, what the hell kind of bait is this?” He held the silver can up, giving it a good shake. Robb’s laughter rang out across the river, and he held up a long, wriggling nightcrawler in reply. Later, Theon would remember the sound of that laughter, bright and clear as a bell, would cling to it. But at the moment, it only annoyed him. “You ass! I’m going to dig a few up. Be right back.”   
  
He headed back the way they’d came, the morning sun slanting through the trees and in his eyes, to a loamy spot just between the trees and the carefully manicured lawn. Whistling “Stardust” softly, he snapped a twig off a fallen branch and knelt to poke at the dirt, turning it over until he found a nightcrawler, then another. After he’d gathered a handful, he stood, looking down at the knees of his pants ruefully.  _Filthy...and I doubt that’s coming out._   
  
A flash of white at the edges of his vision caused Theon to raise his head, alarmed. It was Sansa, but...something wasn’t right. She was hurrying down the lawn, barefoot and wild-haired, in a long, white nightgown. He’d  _never_ seen her like this, so...unladylike; even as a small child, Sansa had always had every hair in place, everything just so. As she drew closer, he could tell she’d been crying by her red-rimmed eyes.   
  
Theon dropped the worms, taking a step towards her tentatively. “Sansa? What’s wrong?”   
  
“Theon...” She stopped in front of him, just at the edge of where the grass stopped abruptly and turned into rich, black earth, looking down at her bare feet with an expression of absurd dismay. “I...my first thought was to find Robb. I should’ve dressed...” Her voice broke, and he crossed the short distance between them, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s Pop-pop. He’s...he’s gone.”   
  
Theon pulled Sansa into a hug, his mind already a step ahead, thinking of how utterly crushed her brother would be. Hoster Tully was a military man, something of a local hero as one of Teddy Roosevelt’s own Rough Riders, and certainly one of Robb’s idols. When Theon had first come to the Stark family, he and Robb had played “Battle of San Juan Hill” for hours on end. But the old man had been ill for quite some time now...Theon hadn’t actually  seen him in at least a year. He hadn’t even been strong enough to leave his room for Ned’s funeral. Theon’s heart felt heavy and cold in his chest, and Sansa was crying against his shoulder in a most lady-like fashion, so quiet and stifled.   
  
He gently pulled her away, holding her at arm’s length. “Sansa, sweetling, let me tell him, would you?” She bit her lip daintily, indecisive, and he reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear with a smile. “He’s in the middle of the river, and you’re in a nightie. I know I’m not family, but-”   
  
She cut him off with a smile so pure it almost warmed his heart. “Hush with that hooey. You are and you know it. Go on, then. I should tell,” and again her voice cracked with emotion, “tell the others. Mother’s gone to break the news to Uncle Brynden.”   
  
Theon’s heart sank further at that. If Hoster was a boyhood hero of Robb’s, Brynden was one of his. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that. Brynden Tully had been a Rough Rider, too, and arguably a better soldier than his older brother, even. But he’d gotten out of the military after the war, wanting to make his own way as a private detective, something Hoster had never forgiven him for and that Theon respected immensely. He also knew that Brynden had tried many times to bridge the gap, unsuccessfully.  _And now it’s too late..._   
  
Leaning down, he gave Sansa a quick kiss on the forehead and a gentle push towards the house. “Hurry up, now, get inside and get warm. We’ll be up in just a minute.” He watched a moment as she climbed the hill to the house, then turned back to the path, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.   
  
When he got back to the river, Robb was laying on the rock in the river, dangling his feet in the cool water. He sat up, calling out, when he saw Theon. “I need some of those nightcrawlers, I’m clean out!”   
  
Theon held up his empty hands, still stained with dirt. “I got nothin’, pal...” He took a deep breath. “C’mon in, why don’t ya? I...just c’mon in, Robb.”    
  
Robb gave him a puzzled look, but hopped off the rock and waded across the river, the current swirling around his thighs, trying to knock him off balance. He almost went down once, but managed to keep his balance, and staggered to the banks of the river with a question on his lips. “What’s wrong?”   
  
“Robb...” Theon didn’t know how to do this with anything approaching tact or gentleness, so he just said it. “Your grandfather...he’s gone, Robb.” He watched his friend’s face carefully, not sure what sort of reaction to anticipate. Robb’s eyes narrowed, and his stance grew stiff, and it was like he’d turned back into a little boy right before Theon’s eyes. _ Anger, then. I can handle anger _ ,  Theon thought grimly.   
  
“Pop-pop? How do you know?” Robb’s belligerence was fragile, Theon saw. “This is a sick kind of joke, Greyjoy.”   
  
“It’s no joke, Robb. Sansa came down and told me. She thought of you first thing, but she ran down here barefoot in her nightgown, so I sent her back up to the house.” He saw the point at which Robb believed him, his anger washing away to reveal the sorrow beneath. “I’m so sorry...” Theon was at a loss now, he really wasn’t equipped to handle these sorts of moments; if it hadn’t been Robb, he would’ve avoided the moment altogether.   
  
When he spoke, Robb’s voice was almost as bleak as the look in his eyes. “All this death. I’m so damn sick of it, Theon.” He let Theon throw an arm around his shoulders and lead him towards the path, leaving the chair and fishing gear behind. They could send Jory or someone down for it later. “Will it ever end?”   
  
“I don’t know, pal. I don’t know.”   
  
\--------------------------------   
  
It was a bright, sunny Tuesday morning, a perfect autumn day, when the better half of Kingsport turned out to bury Hoster Tully. Theon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the Rolls as he followed the horse drawn carriage bearing the casket into Ash Grove, the only cemetery in Kingsport that overlooked the river. It was where generations of Tully’s were laid to rest, he knew, and Hoster had had his plot for years.    
  
Robb shot him a glance from the other side of the long bench seat, and Theon stopped his impatient drumming. The sound of the children quietly talking in the back filled the car. Sansa was sitting between Arya and Rickon to prevent any...disturbances, and she was doing an admirable job of distracting them from their grief. Theon happened to know that Arya was also distracted by a pleasant buzz from the belt of hooch he’d slipped her earlier; he supposed that wasn’t a proper thing to do, but she’d needed  _something_ to calm her nerves, and he only knew of two ways to calm one’s nerves, and she was _ far _ too young for the other way.   
  
Ahead of them, the only car between the Rolls and the carriage, Brynden Tully was behind the wheel of his nephew’s grand old Caddy. Catelyn and Brynden had gone to pick up Edmure that morning from the apartment he shared with one of his old Marine buddies, Marq Piper. They’d taken Bran with them, and he rode with them now. Bran had always had a soothing effect on Eddy, and Theon knew Catelyn and Brynden were worried about how he was taking his father’s death.   
  
He remembered how Eddy had been when he’d returned from the war... _shell shock_ , they’d called it, and he hadn’t been home a week before he’d been carted off to the VA hospital, all nervous twitches and violent outbursts. He was much better now, but he still didn’t drive anywhere, and supposedly he was writing a book, although privately, Theon thought that was a load of bull.   
  
The carriage came to a halt in front of the gravesite, and the cars began to park along the winding path. Robb and Theon slid out of the car and hurried towards the carriage, meeting up with Brynden and Edmure as they went.  Robb threw an arm around his uncle Eddy, and Theon saw the older man flinch slightly before he returned the gesture.   
  
“Boys,” Brynden said, gruff as ever. He clapped Theon on the shoulder, nodding curtly. “Let’s get this done, and done right.”    
  
They stepped up to the carriage behind Robb and Eddy, but they were all waiting for Marq Piper and Karl Vance, two of Eddy’s fellow former Marines and the other two pallbearers, who’d gotten stuck further back in the processional. Theon could see them making their way through the crowd in their dress blues, hats under their arms. A slight movement to his left caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see Catelyn Stark bend and press a kiss to Bran’s forehead before straightening his tie.   
  
It was something he’d seen her do a thousand times, to her sons, to Ned, hell, even to him once in a great while, when he was younger. But today, for some odd reason, it reminded him, rather painfully, of his own mother. Alannys Harlaw and Catelyn Stark were nothing alike, but nobody could ever question their love for their respective families. _ And Cat hasn’t had  half the loss my mother has , _ Theon thought.   
  
But still, he knew what it was to lose a father, even if he hadn’t loved his father like he knew Catelyn did hers. As Marq and Karl came up, offering solemn handshakes all around, and the six men positioned themselves to pull the casket off the carriage, Theon couldn’t help but think of his own father’s funeral. It had been nothing like this...nothing at all. Robb and Edmure took the front corners of the gleaming oak coffin, Theon slid in behind Robb, with Brynden opposite him, and Karl and Marq took up the rear corners.   
  
He had been a pallbearer at his own father’s funeral, his mother had insisted on it, although he’d been too young to be of much help, really. Ned Stark had taken him out to Pyke himself, for all Greyjoys were buried on Pyke, and Theon remembered how his mother had spit full in his foster father’s face, how his uncles’ barely repressed rage had hung like a dark cloud over the short graveside service.    
  
As he walked behind Robb, he saw Sansa and Arya link hands, sitting so nicely in the row of chairs beside the open gravesite. He blinked suddenly, remembering how Asha had held his hand that same way...he’d forgotten that until just now. He wondered briefly if she remembered it, but before he could lie to himself and say she did, he felt the coffin jerk in his grasp.    
  
Eddy had stumbled on something, and he’d gone to a knee, dropping his corner with a soft cry. Theon could see the tendons straining in Robb’s neck as he struggled to hold the unbalanced weight of the front of the coffin, and he was afraid they’d drop it all together, and then suddenly Brynden Tully was sliding forward to take the front next to Robb. It left a hole in middle on that side, and Karl grunted once at the redistribution of the load, but they just double-timed it to the graveside, sliding the coffin onto the waiting platform.   
  
Theon sat himself at the end of the family’s row of seats, next to little Rickon, watching blankly as Brynden went back and pulled Eddy to his feet with one hand, guiding him to their seats gently. Not for the first time, Theon was incredibly grateful he’d been far too young to fight in the war. As the service started, his mind began to wander again, back to the service on Pyke. The words were different...the Greyjoys kept to the old ways, but the incessant droning and quiet sniffles were much the same.    
  
Of course, there hadn’t been so many mourners for Balon Greyjoy, only the Greyjoys and Harlaws, and a smattering of other extended family members. Certainly none of Kingsport’s elite had been there, excepting Ned Stark, and nor would they have been welcome. His uncle Aeron had presided over the service, of course, and when Euron had risen to give a brief eulogy, Vic had stood and stalked away, incensed. Theon hadn’t understood any of it at the time, but Asha had insinuated to him recently that Vic suspected Euron of playing a role in their father’s death.   
  
Before his mind could wander too far down that particular dark alley, he felt a pudgy little elbow jab his ribs. Blinking, he looked down at Rickon, and realized that they were all meant to be saying some prayer in unison. He’d never bothered to pay much attention to the rituals of his foster family’s faith, however, so he just rested his arm on the back of Rickon’s chair and looked attentive. The solemn nod that earned him from the smallest Stark was almost painfully adorable and Stark-ish, and he managed to keep himself from winking in return.   
  
Soon enough, the service was over, and Theon stood and retreated a short distance, allowing the family a moment alone by the coffin. Standing with his hands in his pockets, he contemplated if he’d have time to make a few runs later or if he’d be missed, when he felt a hand curl around his elbow.   
  
“Did you...know him well?” Mya kept her voice low, but he could hear the concern in it. She dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief, and he realized she’d been crying. “Robb’s grandfather, I mean?”   
  
Theon shook his head. “I wouldn’t say well. He was ill for a long time.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead, longing to kiss her in a fashion far more inappropriate for a funeral. “You didn’t come alone, did you, doll?”   
  
“No,” she turned to look behind her, and he let one hand slide down to rest at the small of her back. “Roslin’s here somewhere...she was a little put out she couldn’t sit with the family, I think, especially...” Mya trailed off, but Theon knew the rest.  Especially since  you were sitting with them .   
  
He smiled sharply, turning her face back to him with a finger. “She’ll get over it. They’ll be married soon enough.” Mya raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch, lips quirking slightly in a small smile. “Not that that’ll get rid of me,” Theon finished with a wink, and Mya tucked her face against his shoulder to keep her giggle from disturbing the family.   
  
Roslin came up beside them, giving Theon a positively icy look as she threaded her arm through Mya’s unoccupied arm. He responded with a wide grin. “Ros, sweetheart, it’s been far too long. I’ve missed you so.”   
  
She rolled her eyes at him, tugging at Mya slightly. “Save it. C’mon, Mya, we’ll miss our ride.” She nodded back at a weasley, nervous-looking youth twisting a newsboy cap in his hands. Theon vaguely recognized him as one of her million brothers or cousins or nephews, more from his Frey features than anything else. He didn’t think he’d arrested this one, so he let Roslin pull Mya’s arm from his.   
  
“Go on, then.” He could hear the family beginning to drift towards the cars anyway. “I’ll see you both later at the dinner, won’t I?” The Veteran’s Association had offered their clubhouse for a dinner that had started out small, but had quickly grown to include half the city, or so it seemed.   
  
The girls both nodded, and Mya blew him a quick kiss as Roslin pulled her away. Theon turned and made his way back to the family, putting an arm around Robb’s shoulder as they walked back to the Rolls. He could almost  feel Roslin’s eyes on his back, twin daggers of jealousy, and it was a struggle to keep his smile under wraps.   
  
“Think you’ll be able to hold down the fort while we’re gone?” Robb asked, smiling slightly at the face Theon made. The whole family was going to Winterfell for a few days, but Selmy had been adamant that Theon was needed at the precinct. “Oh, and that reminds me...Uncle Brynden’s going to come stay at the big house while we’re up North.” Robb swallowed hard. “He’ll be going through Pop-pop’s things, taking care of business, so Mother doesn’t have to...”   
  
Theon nodded, opening the car door for Sansa and the children as Robb went around to the passenger side. When they’d all piled in, he turned to Robb with a grin. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Stark. By the time you get back, I’ll have solved the serial case. I’ll make sure to take good notes, so you can do up all my paperwork.”   
  
“Shut up, Greyjoy,” came the standard response. But then Robb frowned. “Be careful working that case alone, though... Oh, and  _that_ reminds me,” Theon wondered when the hell his friend had become so forgetful. He guessed it must be grief clouding his mind. “Uncle Brynden wanted to talk to us about that case. Let’s try talk to him tonight, but if we can’t, make sure you talk to him soon.”   
  
_ Now that sounds promising , _ Theon thought as he pulled out of the cemetery. Brynden Tully excelled at his chosen profession, and if he had information about the case, it was sure to be useful. But all he said was, “Let’s just see how tonight goes, hmm?” He had a feeling the dinner was going to be far too busy for any private conversations, and if there was one thing that needed to be kept private, it was the details of this case. Each victim was more gruesome than the last, and Theon had a hunch it was only going to get worse before it got better.


	3. Workforce

“This must be some sorta record.” A skinny, gawky boy pushing a mail cart paused next to Mya, depositing a small vase with a single white orchid in it on her desk. “You ain’t been here an hour and you already got stuff comin’ in.” He shook his greasy head and pushed the cart onto the next windowless cube.  
  
Mya stared after him for a minute. “Thanks...” She plucked the tag off the orchid and flipped it over, smiling to herself when she saw jagged, spidery writing. “Remember what I told you - T.G”, it read, with a tiny, slightly smudged octopus scribbled beneath. _Theon can be sweet when he wants to be, but he sure knows how to get a point across,_ she thought as she touched the orchid petals. He’d known how nervous she was about starting at the Lantern . He had to have. Every time she opened her mouth it was all that would it come out and the last time he’d called this morning, he’d chuckled at her and told her she was worrying about nothing. _Nothing to you, maybe..._  
  
Leaning back in her chair, she looked at the stack of ancient, yellowing newspapers before her. When Margaery Tyrell had told Mya she’d be doing grunt work, she hadn’t been kidding. She’d barely gotten in the door, keeping her eyes firmly away from the looming and to her, judgemental portrait of Mace Tyrell, when she’d been whisked away by a fast-talking man who only identified himself as ‘Bulwer’. He’d ushered her to a dusty, unbalanced desk in a corner near a loudly clanking water fountain, and had snatched the stack of newspapers off another desk, plunking them firmly onto hers. “Go through these,” he barked. “Look for anything worth saving. Cut it out, paste it into this,” and here Bulwer had given her a thick empty binder, “and remember to arrange it by date, oldest to newest. And go easy on the paste, Stone, it’s expensive and I’m not about to have Hewett breathing down my neck when I do my expense reports. Got it?”  
  
Mya’s head spun, and she felt a little prick of disappointment in her stomach. _Gluing articles?_ That _is how my career is getting started?_ It must’ve shown in her face, for Bulwer had rolled his eyes impatiently. “What, did you expect a corner office with a view straight out of the gate?” He chuckled derisively, slicking a hand back over his oiled hair. “Not unless it turns out your name is Tyrell. Or Baratheon,” he added as an afterthought, and Mya bit back half a hundred different responses. “Rest of us have to work for it, babyface. Everyone starts out doing 40 hours of this.”  
  
“Isn’t this something an archivist should be doing?” Mya grimaced as she heard the tone in her voice. She sounded entitled, whiny even.  
  
Bulwer shrugged. “You know where the door is. You don’t wanna do the work, use it. Just don’t waste my time, hear?”  
  
Mya shifted, feeling one of her shoes pinch a bit uncomfortably. “That’s not what I meant-”  
  
“I don’t care what you meant. Now, you gonna get to it or no? Hurry up, now, there’re a hundred other kids just like you trying to make it in this industry, and if you wanna to back to your professor and whine you had to start at the bottom, be my guest.”  
  
Mya hadn’t known how to respond to that, and had plunked herself right in her chair. “Yessir.” She’d mumbled, but Bulwer was already striding off, snapping at someone across the room.    
  
Forty hours of this? Mya’s class scheduled allowed her at most, eight to ten hours free to work here per week. That was common in students, she’d been told. _But still...six weeks of this? That’ll take me straight up to the end of the semester, nearly, and there’re so many things I wanted to get started on._  
  
Mya chewed on her lower lip, thinking of a worn, folded piece of paper in the depths of her bag. Some weeks ago Theon had slipped her a copy of the list of illegitimate children Robert Baratheon had sired after she’d expressed a passing interest in finding the rest of her wide-spread family. She hadn’t had the faintest idea where to start, though, and she hadn’t had a lot of time either _. And be honest, you’re scared to do it too_ , Mya thought as she pulled the nearest paper towards her and started flipping idly through it. _It’s a big thing, finding one’s family, and who knows what you’re related to?_ She thought briefly of Euron Greyjoy and fought back the bile that rose instinctively in the back of her throat. _No, there’s only one person like him, and that is him. Robert Baratheon couldn’t have fathered anything like that._ Maybe once she’d put in her forty hours of cutting and pasting she’d be able to look a little closer at the list.  
  
The morning dragged painfully slowly, and Mya thought she actually saw the ancient, enormous clock on the wall move backwards at one point, but she kept on with her task. _How am I supposed to know what’s worth keeping? It all has historical value, to a degree, even these old ads for mixing bowls._ Eventually she decided the ads, unless they seemed unusually rare, would go and just the articles would stay. The chatter around the newsroom soon became nothing more than white noise to her, so when Margaery Tyrell perched herself on the edge of Mya’s already-cluttered desk, crossing one long leg over the other, it was enough to scare the wits out of the younger girl.  
  
“Ahh, the archiving project.” Margaery was resplendent in forest green today, idly stroking a bit of fur lining her collar. “I remember when this started - _everyone_ had to take part in it. Even Loras and I.”  
  
Mya set her newspaper down, setting aside a precariously-balanced jar of paste. “Can I ask what the point of it is? Bulwer didn’t really specify.”  
  
Margaery laughed. “Oh God, they gave you to Bulwer? He’s such an old sap, and bitter to boot. He thinks he got high-hatted out of a promotion a few years back and for some reason he’s felt compelled to run a reign of terror on any fish we have coming in who’re unlucky enough to fall under his reach. Anyway, the point of the articles is two-fold: one, to let the new kid know, with no uncertainty, where they stand and two, it helps us prepare our records for being converted over to this new microfilm nonsense. Bulwer’s idea, to be honest.I can have you reassigned though, if he’s too bullish.”  
  
“No, not at all.” Mya lied. Whatever attitude this Bulwer brought to the table, she could handle, she hoped.  
  
“Good.” Margaery craned her neck to look at the ad Mya was reading, and her face lit up. “Oh, I remember those! Those old...what’d they call them. Personal something-or-other. The Manipulator. I had an older cousin who had one and one Christmas my brother Garlan got ahold of it and brought to the midnight mass. He must’ve thought it was a toy or something. I don’t remember much, but I do remember, right in the middle of the homily he dropped it out of his pocket and it rolled right down the aisle.” She laughed, brushing back a chestnut curl. “My grandmother was _mortified_ , to say nothing of my cousin.” Margaery shook her head, waving a hand. “But enough about that - how are things going so far?”  
  
“Great!” Mya chirruped, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. “I’m getting the hang of this, I think.”  
  
“Bored to tears, aren’t you.”  
  
“Is it that obvious?”   
  
Margaery laughed again and ran a manicured nail along the edge of the vase on Mya’s desk. “This is pretty, where’d you get it?” Without waiting for a response she plucked the small card up and read it, grinning. “Who’s this T.G., a fella you’re seeing? And what’s the story behind the octopus?”  
  
“He’s my fella, yes,” Mya felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “And the octopus is sort of an inside joke, you could say.”  
  
“That’s awfully sweet of him to send that over, then.” Margaery gave the orchid a perfunctory sniff and set it back on the desk. “You’ll have to have him stop by. I like to make sure if my girls are seeing boys out there, they’re of the right caliber.” She winked and slid off Mya’s desk. “I’m glad you haven’t run screaming into traffic yet, Mya. Keep up the good work, yeah?”  
  
Mya felt she could’ve fried an egg on her face, but she managed to nod. “Absolutely!”  
  
Once Margaery had left, boredom set in again and Mya found herself reading some of these articles as she sorted and glued them. _Arryn Steel branches into aviation...I remember that. It’s what landed Mom her job and saved us from the breadline more times than either of us want to remember_ . She examined the grainy picture, and remembered seeing Jon Arryn around Eyrie every so often. He and his wife had spent much of their time in Kingsport until his death only the year previous. _Her and that boy of hers..._ Mya shuddered, pressing the delicate paper onto a page. There had always been something unnatural about the young Arryn boy and his mother. Mya had heard rumors that he was still suckled well into grade school. _Ugh_... onto the next pile. _Martells name new ambassadors from...well good grief, I can’t even begin to pronounce that._ Into the book it went.  
  
The next stack was thicker, and spanned several years. “Fledgling FDA Shuts Down Bolton Meats”, the first headline bellowed, showing a photo of an annoyed-looking man the caption named as Roose Bolton leaving the city’s courthouse flanked by important-looking suits. Skimming the article, Mya found the meat processing plants had been shut down once it was found that the conditions in the slaughterhouses were deplorable. Well that’s not news, she thought. _That’s why they started up the FDA in the first place._ The more she read though, the more she squirmed. _Workers going missing...suspicious bones showing up in the vats..._ while the articles never came right out and said it, Mya got the inkling the citizens of Kingsport had inadvertently eaten some of their own. Her stomach turning, she flipped ahead through reports of bribery, editorials, lawsuits, federal mandates, _so forth and so on..._ until the last article, dated some five years ago. “Bolton’s Back In Business!”, this one read. Roose had worked out all his legal troubles, one way or another, and he had appointed his son Ramsay as his successor. She let her eyes drift down to the end of the article. “Our knives are as sharp as ever,” Ramsay Bolton had been quoted as saying on his first day in his new role.  
  
Mya let the article settle on her desk, feeling a sour taste in the back of her throat. _Maybe a salad tonight, then..._ before she could dwell too long on what she’d read, Bulwer materialized out of nowhere, wrapping his thick knuckles sharply on her desk. “What’re you doin’, Stone? I’m not paying you to read these, am I?”  
  
“Well, technically, you are...” Mya replied, but Bulwer just glared at her and she shut her mouth.  
  
“Skim and toss or keep. It’s really not that hard. Anyway, it’s five o’clock. Get your gams out of here, I’m not paying you overtime.”  
  
Mya straightened in her chair, startled. “It’s five _already_ ? ” Without waiting for a response she grabbed her coat and purse, nearly running for the door. She still had at least four or five hours of studying to do tonight and Theon was coming for her far sooner than that.   
  
\--------------------------  
  
The dorm was quiet without Roslin, and Mya wasn’t sure she liked it. Her roommate had gone North to the Stark’s summer home of Winterfell with the rest of the grieving family, and Mya was pretty sure she’d forced Robb to bring her along after the apparently unforgiveable snub of not being able to sit with them at Hoster Tully’s funeral. Mya smiled as she recalled how Roslin had blustered and fumed about it the entire car ride out of the cemetery until her cousin had finally told her to shut her gob before he made her walk back to Rosby Hall.  
  
Setting her bag down on her desk, Mya fished through it until she came up with the list Theon had given her, mashed between a few books. She unfolded it, laying across her bed and smoothing it on the pillow before her. _Gendry Waters...he was born here in Kingsport six months after me...Robert was a busy man._ Mya mused. There were many other names on the list, but the only other one that stuck out was Edric Storm. She remembered the name from when she, Theon, and Robb had had that horribly awkward encounter on Theon’s bed, and from somewhere else...she furrowed her brow, stretching to reach a pencil on her desk and circling Edric’s name. He’d be one of the first she looked into, if for no reason other than to scratch that niggling itch in the back of her mind. Him, and Gendry. If she could finagle some time away from her jar of paste, the _Lantern_ had to have some semblance of birth records, or if she could get back into City Hall, they certainly would. _Keep your head down_ . Mya frowned. She didn’t like the fact that her conscience had suddenly started sounding an awful lot like Theon. Maybe he had a point though, rattling around her head like that. She wasn’t sure Jaime Lannister, or his eagle-eyed secretary, had forgotten the last time she’d shown up there.  
  
Mya turned on her side, hugging her enormous stuffed octopus and resting her chin on its bulbous head. It had finally stopped smelling musty, she realized, and she smiled absently. _Alright, let’s say I do find these boys, then what? Do I just march up to them, stick my hand out and say ‘Hi, I’m your older half-sister. Did you know we shared a father?’ Seems rather...blunt._ She wrapped one of the tentacles around her wrist. _No more blunt than finding out when you’re naked and sprawled across your fella. Lord, here’s hoping I don’t run into anything like_ that .  
  
In the distance she heard a church bell bong the hour and for the second time in an hour bolted upright. _You’ve gone and wasted another half hour daydreaming about your imaginary family. Now get on the books or else you’ll have to cancel with Theon and you know how he gets..._ Mya sighed and dragged her stack of textbooks over to her. Theon or no, it was looking to be a long night.


	4. Spinning Wheels

Theon picked up the phone on his desk for the fourth time that day, dialing half the exchange before he slammed it back down, annoyed. He’d never been so bored in all his life. Not that he didn’t have plenty to do, because he did, and he was getting as much done as he could with Robb gone. But it was infinitely harder to work alone, with nobody to bounce ideas off or just shoot the shit with.    
  
He’d already called Mya more times than he’d ever admit to anyone, but the last time he’d called, that goddamn Eloise Hedgen had picked up and told him in no uncertain terms that it was too early to be calling  _again_ , and besides didn’t he  _know_ , Mya had already left for her first day at the  _Lantern_ ? Suddenly, a thought came to his head, and he grinned, setting aside the file he’d been leafing through and grabbing his jacket.   
  
“Going out!” He yelled at random, flipping a choice finger up at Lancel Lannister, who’d looked up from his phone with a scowl.   
  
Barristan Selmy, the interim chief, poked his head out of his office. “Where’re you off to, Greyjoy? You gotta start taking a squad car with a radio, or at least signing in and out...officers alone need to take extra precautions.”   
  
Theon waved him off. “Nothing to worry about, just running an errand and then paying a visit to Brynden Tully.”   
  
Selmy nodded, pacified. “Not a bad idea. I saw Brynden at the dinner, and he said he’d been meaning to talk to you boys. Go on, then, get,” he said, waving a vague hand towards the door.   
  
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Theon said, going out the door hastily, before someone could corral him into doing some grunt work. He loosened his tie as he went down the cracked steps of the stationhouse, twirling the keys to the Rolls around his index finger jauntily. Lucky for him, Robb’s half-brother Jon had driven down and given Arya and Bran a ride up in his old jalopy, so the rest of the family had been fine in Edmure Tully’s Cadillac.   
  
Theon’s lips quirked as he thought about Robb and Roslin enduring the hours-long drive up to Winterfell in the company of his mother and siblings. They’d both be miserable, and it amused him to no end. Leaving the car behind, he walked half a block until he found the store he remembered from a visit with Robb.  Florent Flowers , the sign read in swirling script, and a pleasant old man with rather large ears greeted him when he pushed the plate glass door open and went in.   
  
“Afternoon, young man, what can we do for you today?” He pushed a lock of frizzy white hair away from his face with a gloved hand, setting down the rose he’d been trimming. “Flowers for your sweetheart, or your mother, perhaps?”   
  
“The former,” he said curtly, fishing his wallet from a pocket. “And all I have on me is,” he thumbed the bills in his wallet, “ten bucks.”   
  
The man blinked at him, setting down his shears. “Buddy, for ten bucks, you can have...well, just about anything you want. What’s it for, anyway?”   
  
He stared at him blankly. Since when did sending some flowers necessitate so many questions, he wondered.  _Now get a hold of yourself, you’re acting paranoid_ ... “My girl...she started a work-study thing down at the  _Lantern_ ,” he said cautiously. “So let’s make it...ah, one of those things?” He gestured to a flower at random.   
  
The man tsked. “A carnation? No, no...” He leaned over the counter conspiratorially. “If you’ve got ten bucks to spend, why not go big? Get her a dozen roses, she’ll be falling into your arms.”   
  
Theon smirked at him. “You say that like she isn’t already, old man. And I’m not blowing all my cash on this, it’s not a real job or anything.” He touched the carnation with a fingertip. “So what’s wrong with this, anyway? It looks fine to me...”   
  
“Carnations are cheap. And they mean ‘friendship’,” the man said. “Is that really what you’re going for?”   
  
“No,” Theon replied bluntly. “Listen, here’s five bucks,” he slapped a fiver onto the worn counter. “Gimme something good, you know your business. It’s going to a Miss Mya Stone at the  _Kingsport_ _Lantern_ .”   
  
The old man nodded. “We’ll send her a nice orchid, in a cut-glass vase...”   
  
“Fine, fine, just do it,” Theon cut him off, impatient. “Is that it, then?”   
  
Laughing, the man drew a small card from under the counter, setting it in front of him with a fountain pen. “Well, you’re a romantic one, aren’t ya? Send her a message with it, at least!”   
  
Theon took the pen and scrawled a quick note on the card, initialing it, and then after a brief moment of hesitation, he doodled a little octopus underneath, to soften the text of the message. As a kid, he’d hated Art class, but once, in a rare display of familial bonding, his uncle Aeron had shown him how to draw an octopus with just a few strokes of the pen. It’d been his go-to doodle for boring phone conversations and stake-outs ever since, and he thought it might make Mya smile. He shook his head at himself as he left the flower shop.  _Going soft are ya, Greyjoy?_   
  
Picking up the Rolls back at the precinct, the drive to Brynden Tully’s office was a short hop across town. Along the way, Theon stopped and made a few of his deliveries, cautious in the light of day, but wanting to get as much done before his date with Mya that night. Finally, he pulled up in front of the slightly seedy-looking building where Brynden’s office was located.   
  
Making his way up the dark stairs, he remembered visiting once with Robb and Ned Stark when he was a boy. He’d known Brynden for a few years then, and the dingy atmosphere of the place hadn’t seemed to fit the man he’d come to admire. When Theon had voiced that opinion, he’d been rewarded with a solemn nod and the explanation that people visiting a private investigator had certain expectations, and meeting those expectations meant more business. At the time, he hadn’t quite understood, but it made much more sense now; Asha ran her club operating under the same principles, Theon knew.   
  
The office door was closed, but Theon could tell from the muffled music coming from behind the door that there were no clients within, so he didn’t bother knocking. Brynden Tully was sitting with his feet up, flipping through what looked like a stack of photos, but he tossed them face down on the desk and rose, switching the radio off, when he saw his visitor.   
  
“Theon, lad, good to see you!” He stuck a huge hand out, and his grip was firm as ever when Theon shook his hand. “I’ve been doing some poking around in between cases, and I’ve got some info that might be of use to you.”   
  
He gestured to a chair opposite his desk, and Theon sat, pulling a notepad from his inner jacket pocket. “On what case? Technically, we’re only working the flayings at the moment, but...” he trailed off, looking at Brynden wryly.   
  
The older man winked. “Not another word. In any case, I happen to have a little information on both the serial case  _and_ Ned and Robert’s assassinations.”   
  
Theon raised an eyebrow as he snagged a pencil off the desk in front of him. The use of the word ‘assassinations’ told him that Brynden was working off certain assumptions, as were he and Robb, and not swallowing the simple “Mob hit” theory the papers had put forward. He spared a brief moment to thank his lucky stars Brynden hadn’t mentioned the Tyrell case, simply stating, “I’m listening.”   
  
“For starters,” Brynden said curtly, getting right down to it, “Those flayings are targeting working girls without backup.” Theon mentally translated, jotting down  _prostitutes w/o pimps_ . “For another, they’re all new to town.”   
  
He laughed shortly. “So Robb and I were both right then...good, I don’t owe him a red cent then.” Brynden frowned, his bushy eyebrows lowering disapprovingly, and Theon coughed, continuing. “But how do you know they’re new girls?”   
  
“Did you know any of them?” Brynden asked.   
  
“I...no, I didn’t.” Now it was Theon’s turn to frown. “I’ve been...seeing someone, anyway. And besides...” He trailed off as the other man gave him a look. He had to admit, he was familiar with most all the whores in the city, whether from arresting them or paying them, and he hadn’t known any of the dead girls. “Alright, so new hookers without pimps. Anything else we should know?”   
  
Brynden sighed once. “There’s not a lot to go on, and I haven’t had much time to look into it, but in my opinion, it’s someone we probably know, or at least know of.”   
  
“Why’s that?”   
  
“They’ve got a lot of time on their hands, so they’re either well-off or on the dole, but they have a place to keep these women, which, to me, suggests a property owner. So rich, then.” He gave Theon a sardonic look. “One of us, my boy.”   
  
Theon smiled sharply. That would make the going much more difficult, but he appreciated the insight all the same. “And Ned and Robert?”   
  
Brynden leaned forward, his leather chair squeaking. “The Lannisters.”   
  
“I’ve got intel that says the same,” Theon said with a grim smile. “How did you come to that conclusion?”   
  
“You do?” Brynden looked slightly disturbed. “The only reason I know that is because Ned confided to me that there had been a bit of an internal power struggle between Robert, Cersei, and her father. I connected the dots. What did  you hear?”   
  
“Remember I said I’m seeing someone?” Brynden nodded, waiting for Theon to go on. “Well, she’s studying journalism, don’t ask me why, and one of her professors is none other than-”   
  
“Tyrion Lannister.” They spoke in unison, and Brynden went on. “And he confided in one of his  _students_ ? I thought the man was smarter than that!”   
  
“Well, not in so many words, but he mentioned a document to her, a certain edict naming Robert’s wife his successor, which is...” Theon’s lips quirked slightly. “Abnormal, to say the least. I connected some dots as well, it seems.”   
  
“Well done, Greyjoy,” the older man said, leaning back again in his seat. “And about that girl...I happen to have some information on her, as well.”   
  
Theon blinked. “How do you know who I’m seeing, anyway?” He tried to keep the question light, but he could feel a defensive tone creeping into his voice.   
  
“I know plenty, boy.” Brynden’s tone sent a cold spike of dread through Theon’s guts, but he kept a smile on his face as the other man went on. “And she’s a sight better than the dames you usually get around with. But do you know who she is? Or who she’s related to, I should say.”   
  
Breathing a bit easier, Theon answered. “I do. Found a list in some of Ned’s personal papers during our investigation...”  _Oh_ ... , a thought struck him. “You made that list, didn’t you? For Robert, or for Ned?”   
  
Brynden sighed. “Ned asked me to, but it was clearly for Robert. The man couldn’t even keep track of his own children. He wanted to set up funds for them, in case anything should happen to him.” He held up a hand when Theon opened his mouth. “I don’t know if he ever actually did, so don’t ask. But if your girl wants to know more, you can send her to see me.” He handed a business card over to Theon. “Gratis, of course.”   
  
“I’ll let her know,” Theon said, standing. “And speaking of...I should shake a leg, we’ve got a date soon, and I need to get the car cleaned up, and-”   
  
“Go on, get outta here,” Brynden said, chuckling. “I’ve got work to do, even if you don’t.”   
  
\-------------------   
  
A few hours later, Theon had emptied out the trunk of the Rolls, and managed to secure a last-minute reservation at Manderley’s Steakhouse by flashing his badge at the maitre’d and citing an important police matter. After getting the car washed, he pulled up in front of Mya’s dorm and laid on the horn, worn out and not in the mood to deal with her nosy housemother.    
  
However, the scathing look he got when Mya opened the passenger door and slid in almost made him regret that decision. “Theon! You couldn’t’ve just come in and-”   
  
He pulled her across the front seat and laid a kiss on her, hoping to nip the lecture in the bud. Luckily for him, it worked. When he released her, Mya snuggled up against his side, swatting at him playfully. “It was very rude, y’know. And Mrs. Darry already thinks you’re...” She trailed off, and he snorted, able to guess the rest of that particular line of thought.   
  
“I don’t give a damn what Mrs. Darry thinks.  _ You _ don’t mind, do you?” Theon grinned at her, making a quick left-hand turn that caused her to press even closer to him.    
  
“Well...only a little bit,” she’d slipped a hand under his jacket, smoothing his rumpled shirt. “It would be easier to be annoyed with you if you hadn’t sent me that flower earlier,” Stretching a bit, she pecked his cheek. “So thank you for that.”   
  
“Is that all the thanks I get?” He said, taking one hand off the wheel and twitching the hem of her dress up playfully.   
  
Mya’s hand slid down his torso, almost painfully slowly, and he could feel her grin against his shoulder. “For now it is. Unless you’d rather skip dinner...” Just as she spoke, his stomach rumbled loudly. It was silent a moment, then they both burst out laughing. “Or not.”   
“All I’ve eaten today are bar nuts,” he confessed, pulling into the parking lot of Manderley’s. “I want a nice big steak, rare...” He stopped at the queasy look on her face. “What? What’d I say?”   
  
Mya just shook her head. “I want chicken. No. A salad.” He eyed her curiously. She wasn’t usually the type to undereat, though she managed to stay slim all the same. He loved that about her. “Just...no steak for me.”   
  
Theon held the door open for her, watching her ass as she went in. “Whatever you want, doll. But I’m having a bloody T-bone. I want it so rare it’s still mooing.”   
  
“Fine,” she replied, slightly snippy. “All I said is  _ I’m _ not having steak.”   
  
They were both quiet as the maitre’d seated them, and Theon eyed Mya over the table, wondering what had her in a snit tonight. He opened his mouth to ask her, but before he could speak, their waiter, a rotund little man, came to the table and presented a bottle of red wine.   
  
Theon cut off his description of the vintage. “We’ll take it. Pour, and leave the bottle. And I’ll have a T-bone,  _rare_ . I want it bloody, you understand? The lady’ll have chicken parm.” After pouring two glasses of wine, the waiter scuttled away, and Theon turned back to Mya, only to find her glaring at him. “What?”   
  
“I can speak for myself, y’know,” she said.   
  
He smiled wearily. “You love the chicken parm here, though.” He reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing gently. “Now, what’s got your nose out of joint tonight?”   
  
Mya sighed, sounded almost as weary as he felt. “I’ve got a lot of schoolwork to do, plus the newspaper gig now, not to mention I’ve been thinking a lot about that list you gave me...” She played with his fingers, an endearing habit of hers, and he used his free hand to take a long drink of his wine, waiting for her to go on. “I just wonder about them, Theon. Especially after meeting my unc-, Renly Baratheon. And so many boys...I always wanted a brother.”   
  
He drained his glass, the wine dry and sweet on his lips. “Well, I can tell you about little Edric Storm, a bit anyway,” Theon started, before he remembered his visit with Brynden Tully earlier. “Oh! I can do better than that, actually.” Mya smiled sweetly, but he could see she was confused. He plucked the business card from his jacket and handed it to her with a flourish.   
  
“Brynden Tully, P.I.,” she read. “Oh, but Theon, I can’t afford a private investigator...I’ll just have to ferret them out when I have a spare moment.” She sighed again, her smile drooping. “Which, between school and this job, looks to be about never.”   
  
“He’s Robb’s uncle, dove, and he specifically told me to give that to you, in case you wanted to know more. He also said it’d be on the house. He’s the one that put that list together in the first place.” Theon left out the part about why he’d been hired to draw the list up. “So go see him when you can clear up a second in your busy schedule, alright?”   
  
Mya tucked the card away in her small clutch. “I will, thank you. And my schedule  _ is _ busy! I’ve got a full course load, plus tennis, though that’s winding down, thank God, and now the newspaper...” She trailed off as the waiter bustled up, bearing two steaming trays, and smiled at the little man. “Thank you,” she said as he set their plates before them.   
  
Theon nodded at the man, digging into his steak with relish. “But you were saying? About the newspaper? Did all the girls there like your flower?” He spoke around a mouthful of steak, ignoring the disparaging, almost motherly, look Mya gave him.   
  
“Margaery Tyrell liked it fine, but it’s not all girls and gossip,” she replied, sipping her wine. “How do they get this here, anyway? Manderley’s is well-known, couldn’t they get in trouble?”   
  
He winked at her, pouring himself a generous second glass. “Do you even need to ask? So you and good ol’ Margie are friends now, eh?” He raised an eyebrow at her as he drank. “I hope you remember what I told you...” This little ‘job’ of hers could cost him everything if she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. It was enough to make his gut clench with dread, not for the first time that day.   
  
“How could I forget, when you wrote it on the card with the flower?” she replied, taking a small bite of her chicken and setting her fork down. “And I wouldn’t say ‘good ol’ Margie’ and I are friends. She’s my boss, Theon.”   
  
He laughed, finishing his second glass of wine. “Boss. Oh, honey, you say that like this is a real job or something.”   
  
“I... _ excuse _ me?” Theon looked up, surprised at her sharp tone. Her face was flushed, even though she’d barely touched her wine, and he realized he’d hit a nerve. “It  is a real job, thank you very much.”   
  
He reached for the wine bottle, laughing again when she moved it across the table and out of his reach, like this was about the wine. “Whatever you say, Mya. Now pass that back like a good girl, I’m parched.”   
  
Eyes narrowed, she slowly pushed it back across the table, set her fork down on her plate and dropped her napkin over the whole thing, even though she still had half a plate of food left. “You go ahead, I’m not very hungry after all.” He shrugged and poured a third glass of wine. If she was going to pout, let her pout...he wasn’t going to let it ruin  _ his _ meal. “Y’know-” Mya stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”   
  
“Now, now, don’t hold it in,” he said, taking another bite. He was beginning to get annoyed...if she wanted to be mad, she should just be mad.  _ If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a broad who plays coy. _ He couldn’t understand what she was upset about anyway...that newspaper gig was only part-time, and part of her studies besides. _ What did I say wrong ? _   
  
“I don’t care what you think,” she sat stiffly, and he could tell it was taking all her nerve to spit the words out. “It  _ is _ a real job, even if it’s a lowly one. Some people don’t have everything handed to them in life, Theon Greyjoy. Some of us have to start at the bottom and work our way up, which is what I intend to do.”   
  
He stared at her a moment, wine glass raised to his lips. “I see...” Was she really sitting there and saying he’d had everything handed to him in life, that he hadn’t had to work to get to where he was? Theon drained his glass and threw his napkin on his plate, the white linen instantly going crimson from the bloody meat. “I’m done, too. Let’s go.”   
  
Mya paled a bit, looking up at him when he stood. “Theon, I didn’t mean...” She pressed her lips together in a thin line, and he could tell she didn’t want to be the one to give in, to apologize. A small part of him could respect that, but he wasn’t going to cave either, damnit.   
  
“It doesn’t matter. Just get up.” He pulled a few bills from his pocket, tossing them on the table carelessly, and turned, walking away. He heard her gasp, and realized he’d probably put far too much cash on the table, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The waiter would be getting a good tip tonight.   
  
She caught up with him after a moment, but neither of them said a word as he held the restaurant door, and then the car door, open for her. Mya hesitated at the car. “Maybe I should just walk back to the dorm. It’s only a few blocks, and I could use some fresh air...”   
  
“With a serial killer running around flaying women like sides of meat? Not likely, doll. Get in the damn car already.” He put a hand on her elbow, as he often did, but she jerked away, sliding into the car and pulling the door out of his hand to slam it closed. The door clipped his knee as she yanked it shut, and Theon stared at her incredulously through the window, but she was staring straight ahead, steadfastly refusing to look at him.   
  
Taking a deep breath, he shook a Lucky out of his packet and got behind the wheel of the car, lighting up before he even put the key in the ignition. Mya glanced at him as they pulled away from the restaurant, but didn’t say a word. She stayed firmly on the passenger side, and it was strange not to have her warmth pressed against his side. After a moment, he broke the silence. “So I take it you’re not coming back to my place, then?”   
  
Mya’s incredulous laughter filled the car briefly, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window, still chuckling. “No, Theon, I’m not.”   
  
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, making the turn that lead back to her dormitory.  _You can always go see Roz_ , he told himself, but for some reason that was an unappealing prospect. 

  
“You have some nerve, you know that?” She asked him. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or amused, but guessed it was some combination of the two. “Really...”   
  
“I get that a lot.” He pulled the Rolls up in front of Rosby Hall, suddenly sick of the whole thing. “Go on, go study. I’ll call you,” Theon said, careful not to specify when.   
  
She looked at him directly for the first time since they’d left the restaurant, and his jaw clenched involuntarily at her watery eyes. He  _ hated _ weepy women, it was a pet peeve of his. To her credit, though, not a tear fell, and her voice was soft, but firm, when she spoke. “Good night, Theon. You should get some rest, I know you’ve been working so hard...”   
  
“Night, Mya.” He didn’t acknowledge the rest of her statement. This date had been a disaster, and he just wanted to go home and drink, at this point.   
  
“Theon...” Mya took a hand off the door, and for a moment he thought she’d reach out and touch him. But she only grabbed her small clutch and climbed out of the car. “Good night.”


	5. Paper Thin

It was dark by the time Mya got back to Rosby Hall and for a moment she stared at the few stairs leading up to the front door, unsure if she even had the energy to mount those much less the 5 flights that would lead her to her bed. _ After finishing my ethics essay and reading the four history chapters, and copying my comprehensive literature notes for Samantha _ ... the list seemed endless, but that, plus the scolding her coach had given her at tennis practice, and six straight hours of lectures, had mostly kept Theon off her mind. _Mostly_ . She hadn’t slept the night before, resisting the urge to take the floor’s phone into the linen closet the girls there used for privacy and call him at home.  
  
She knew she shouldn’t have even insinuated to Theon that he hadn’t worked himself to the bone to get where he was. She knew that. But that hadn’t given him the right to be an...an... _oh, admit it, he was an ass._ Mounting the steps wearily, she shifted her heavy bag, laden with books, onto her other shoulder and pulled the door open, mumbled a greeting to Mrs. Darry, and started trudging up the stairs. _Next year if I’m still in this Godforsaken dorm I’m requesting a first-floor room_ . She’d hardly pushed the door open to her wing when Eloise Hedgen was on her, all lumpy bottom, saltwater taffy, and brassy blond curls wrapped in a dress two sizes too small.  
  
“Your pill of a boyfriend called.”   
  
Mya lifted her head, feeling a little break in her cloudy gloom. “He did? What’d he say?”  
  
Eloise shrugged, pulling another string of taffy off. “Nothing important. He sounded all cheesed off, though, when I told him how upset you were last night.”  
  
“Aw, jeez, Eloise, what’d you go and do that for?” Theon hated when women cried, and it had been all she could do last night not to burst into tears at his curt dismissal of her. She’d made it to the lobby, and when she’d glanced back and had seen he’d peeled off already, then the tears came. And, just Mya’s luck, Eloise had been there for the worst of them.  
  
The bigger girl shrugged, chewing her taffy noisily while Mya fought back the urge to throttle her.. “He deserved t’know. I tell ya, Mya, he’s a real lousy pick, ‘f you ask me.”  
  
“Which I didn’t...” Mya shifted her weight. “Alright, go away Eloise. I’ve got to call him back.” Without waiting for a response she dumped her bag in her room, grabbed the phone, and pulled the whole lot into the linen closet, connecting to an operator and giving her Theon’s private exchange. It rang a good twenty times before she agreed to disconnect, far more disappointed than she had any right to be. _ He’s out doing Asha’s dirty work, no doubt. _ She put the phone back on the little table it usually resided on and went back to her room, shutting the door behind her. It was only seven o’clock. She’d try him again before she went to bed, but until then... _y_ _ou’ll have more than enough to keep yourself busy._   
  
\-------------  
  
The next morning was hectic at the _Lantern_ , and the frantic pace excited Mya even if she was chained to her desk and jar of paste. Reporters and editors raced across the floor, waving stacks of pages and yelling about deadlines, and she wanted nothing more than to get into the thick of it. _ Then keep doing what they told you to and prove to them you’re willing to work. _ Glancing down at her desk, she sighed, having run out of papers. Bulwer would have more, undoubtedly, or Margaery would know where to find them.  
  
Passing Loras Tyrell’s office, she saw Margaery perched on her brother’s desk, having a conversation with him while he opened his mail, slicing through envelopes with a long, slender blade. She knocked on the doorframe, offering a smile when the siblings turned towards her as one. “I’m sorry to interrupt...”  
  
Margaery shook her head. “Nonsense, come in! She grinned at Loras’s annoyed expression, tapping the end of his nose. “Don’t mind my crabby big brother here. He had a late night.”  
  
“I understand. I did too.”  
  
Margaery’s smile grew as she nodded to a chair in front of Loras’s desk. “Out with your fella?”  
  
“No, nothing like that. Just a lot of schoolwork.” Mya’s smile tightened. Theon hadn’t answered when she’d called before she went to bed, nor had he picked up when she called yet again before leaving for the office that morning. She tried to tell herself it was just a matter of bad timing, that there would be another message waiting for her when she got home from her classes, but it was hard to ignore the growing stone of apprehension coagulating in her stomach.   
  
Loras snorted. “I can promise you, my late night was far more entertaining.” He tilted his artfully curled head up at his sister. “Where _ is _ your husband, sister? I haven’t seen him yet today.”  
  
Margaery gave him a look, and Mya sensed something passed between them that had sailed clear over her head. “He had a later night than you.” She plucked an envelope off the desk and tore it open, furrowing her brow. “What in the world...?” Reaching over, she plucked Loras’s silk pocket square out of his breast pocket spreading it on his desk.  
  
“Excuse me! That is Chanel silk, Margie!” Loras looked offended.  
  
“I know, Loras, it’s _mine_ . ” While Mya bit back a laugh, Margaery tipped the envelope upside down. Two small, thin scraps of tissue paper fluttered out, flecked with odd reddish-brown speckles, some odd, clumpy black fringe on the other. She leaned closer. “Loras, what _is_ that?”  
  
Mya leaned forward, curious. _I've never seen tissue paper like that before._  
  
“Wait.” Loras held up a hand and slid a desk drawer open. Pulling out a pen, he lifted one piece of tissue paper with the end of it, holding it up to the morning light streaming in. “It almost looks like...”  
  
“Like _what_ , Loras?”  
  
Recognition hit Mya at the same time as Loras spoke, his voice trembling the slightest bit. “It’s an eyelid. They’re eyelids, Margie.”  
  
\-------------  
  
The rest of the morning passed in some sort of horrific blur. The police had been called, of course, but it hadn’t been Theon who’d shown up. Mya hadn’t known the name of the detectives, nor had she had the chance to ask. Margaery had shuffled her straight out of the office, marble-white and shaken. “Go home,” she’s said, plucking a cigarette out of her case. “It’s going to be messy around here for a few days. I’ll see you on Friday, alright?” At Mya’s nod, she gave a terse smile. “And hey...don’t walk home today, yeah? Take a cab.” She pressed a few dollars into Mya’s hand. “On me.”  
  
Mya had thanked her, thinking she should say something comforting. _What do you say to someone who just had a pair of eyelids mailed to them? I don’t think they make cards for that_ .  
She pulled her coat’s collar up against a brisk autumn wind and flagged down a cab, intent on calling Theon when she got back to her dorm. Maybe, if he wasn’t still bent out of shape, he’d want to try dinner again tonight, something to take his mind off the pressure he was under at work. Mya smiled to herself despite how badly her nerves were rattling. _He’s just overly tired, and it’s made him touchy and anyway, all couples fight. Gosh, Roslin and Robb fight at least three times a month and you know how much she loves making up with him. And this wasn’t even really a_ fight , _i_ _t was just a...a spat..._   
  
Feeling somewhat lighter, she climbed out of the cab and made her way up to her room, only to be accosted, again, by Eloise Hedgen. _ I swear, does she just sit here and wait for me to show up? Doesn’t she have anything else to do? _ This time, though, the girl’s eyes were wide and fearful. “Mya,” she took Mya’s arm and pulled her aside, away from a few other girls who lived on the floor. “Mya, I think you’re in trouble.”  
  
“What?” Mya’s stomach twisted painfully. “What do you mean? What’s happened, Eloise?”  
  
“The police,” Eloise’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They called earlier.”  
  
 _The police? I answered all their questions; what else do they want?_ “The police? Was it Theon, Eloise? And don’t jerk me around, I’m not in the mood.”  
  
“I don’t think so. Mrs. Darry took the call and she left a note in your room.”  
  
“Alright...thanks, Eloise.” Without waiting for a response she hurried to her room and sure enough, there was a note on her desk.  
  
_ Mya - call Barristan Selmy right away. He said it’s very important.  
  
\- Ma Darry _  
  
Mya gripped the note, suddenly nauseous. There was nothing in the note to suggest the Chief of Police was calling about anything except the delivery to the paper, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it had to do with Theon. She drifted back down the hall and managed to ask the operator to patch her through to the stationhouse, reading the number off the note Mrs. Darry had left. The phone hardly rang once.  
  
“Selmy here.”  
  
Mya shook herself out of her stupor and gripped the receiver. “Yes, Mr. Selmy? This is Mya Stone. I was told you’d called?”  
  
“Right, Miss Stone, thank you for calling back. Now, I know you spend a lot of time with Detective Greyjoy, right?”  
  
“Right.” Mya forced herself to continue breathing at a normal rate.   
  
“Well, he didn’t show up for work this morning, and I was wondering if you’d heard from him at all.”  
  
Mya’s legs had suddenly gone hollow, and she had to lean against the wall for support. _Be calm. Don’t overreact. Be smart about this. He’s depending on you._ In the same breath her mind raced. _He’s messed up somehow, and they’ve gotten to him. Euron’s got him locked up somewhere too and God only knows what it’ll take to get him out of there._ She swallowed hard and made her voice light, glad this wasn’t a face-to-face conversation. “Y’know, he _did_ say something about wanting to go up to Winterfell to see Robb. You know how awful close they are...”  
  
She heard Selmy sigh. “Y’know, he’s always pissed all over our procedures, pardon my French, but I specifically _told_ him we need him here this week, especially if Stark’s gone North. I’ve half a mind to march straight up there and drag that boy back-”  
  
“No!” Mya clapped a hand over her mouth and forced out a laugh. “No, there’s no need to bother Robb. I’ll...” Her mind was frantic, tumbling over itself. “He’s probably going to call once he gets up there; I’ll have him give you a call, alright?”  
  
“I’d really appreciate that, Miss Stone. Theon’s a good cop. He’s just been under a little more pressure than usual lately, which you’ve probably noticed, and it’s making him reckless.”  
  
“I know, Mr. Selmy. He’s doing his best, he really is.”  
  
“You just have him call me.”  
  
Hanging up the phone, Mya raked a hand through her hair, her heart starting to jackhammer now. She pulled the phone into the linen closet again and shut the door, jiggling the  rotor until the operator came back on the line. “Yes, give me WNF 849, please?” She gnawed on a hangnail as the connection sniffed its way northward, her stomach flip-flopping. _Please pick up, please pick up, please pick-_   
  
“Stark residence, Roslin speaking.”  
  
Mya nearly wept at hearing Roslin’s voice. She curled the phone cord around her finger. “Roslin, it’s Mya, can you put Robb on real quick?”  
  
“Mya!” Roslin sounded ecstatic. “How are you? How’re things going? Hey, if you have some time can you stop down by the Foreign Languages building and pick up my-”  
  
“Roslin!” Mya broke in, images of Euron staking Theon to a beach rolling deep in her mind. “Just...please, it’s important. Just put Robb on. It’s about...just tell him it’s important.”  
  
“ _Fine_ . ” Roslin huffed, and she heard muffled conversation, and then another voice came on. “Mya? It’s Robb, what’s wrong?”  
  
Mya blinked back tears at the sound of his voice. “Robb, it’s Theon, he’s...he’s gone.”  
  
“Gone?” Robb’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean, _gone_ ? ”  
  
“I mean I tried calling him last night and this morning and he wasn’t home and Barristan Selmy just called now and said he never came into work this morning and I don’t know where he is, Robb! He’s not the kind of person to just up and leave like that, is he?” Mya knew she sounded panicked and took a breath, trying to calm herself down. “I don’t know what to do.”  
  
She heard Robb sigh and could picture him running his hand through his auburn curls. “Alright, just...calm down, first off. It’s what, two o’clock? If I leave now, I can be back there by six, seven at the latest, and we can start looking around.”  
  
“I can’t wait that long.” Mya chewed on the inside of her lip, debating how to go about this next part. “I need some information from you.”  
  
“What?” Robb asked after a minute. She wondered briefly if he knew what was coming.  
  
“I need to know where I can find his sister.”  
  
“...his sister. No. Absolutely not. Mya, you don’t know what kind of woman Asha is-”  
  
“I do, Robb. He’s told me everything.” _More than he’s told you, as a matter of fact_ . “And I can tell you this - you can either tell me where I can find her or I’m going to start looking myself, and you know as well as I do that that won’t end well.”  
  
“God, Mya, are you trying to get yourself killed?”   
  
“Tell me where to find her, Robb, or I go looking by myself.” Mya tried to inject a sense of bravado she didn’t feel. _If I have to swim out to Pyke to get answers, then I’ll swim out to Pyke._   
  
He sighed again, muttering under his breath. “Two halves of a whole, you two are. A whole pain in my ass...alright, but swear to me you won’t go there after dark.”  
  
“I swear.” Mya said quickly. “I’ll go right away.”  
  
“This is a bad idea, Mya. I _cannot_ stress that enough-”  
  
“Robb, enough with the preaching! Just make with the address already, would you?”   
  
“Alright.” Robb rattled off an address, his voice tense and low. “Roslin and I are leaving in twenty minutes and we’ll be back there by  six-thirty, I should think. If Asha tries to take you anywhere, do not go with her. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes.” Mya was itching to get off the phone now.  
  
“Swear it.”  
  
“Jeepers, Robb, I swear, alright? Just come back and...and if you talk to Selmy, I told him Theon had mentioned coming up to Winterfell.” Mya tasted blood in her mouth now and realized she’d chewed her lip bloody. “I didn’t know what else to say.”  
  
“No, that’s fine. We’ll work that part out once we find Theon and knock some sense into him. Just be careful.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Back in her dorm, Mya pulled a few bills out of the change jar she and Roslin kept for rainy days and trotted down the back steps, slipping out of the building and avoiding Mrs. Darry’s hawkish eyes. She flagged down another cab and read off the address Robb had given her, ignoring the arch of the driver’s eyes at the location. He pulled into traffic, and she leaned her head against the back of the seat, rubbing her forehead. _What’ve you done, Theon? Who’d you cheese off this time, and what has to be done to get you off that island?_ It occurred to Mya that she should be scared, and she supposed she was. _Keep a lid on it. Robb has a point - Asha’s a Greyjoy, and she’s just as dangerous as the rest of them. If you go in there scared she’s going to know it and she’s going to rip you apart._   
  
Presently the cab pulled up in front of a rundown, nondescript brick building in a part of Kingsport Mya had never ventured. The windows were boarded up, and there was nothing suggesting that this was a place she would find one of the best bootleggers in the city. She lingered in the backseat, staring up at the building while her breath fogged up the cab’s window. _Maybe Robb was right. Maybe I should wait_ ... she shook her head. No. Theon put himself in far more danger to find me. I can do this.  
  
“Listen kid, you gonna get out or, do you want the scenic tour? I can take you down to Cobbler’s Square for another two dollars.” The cabby looked back at her.  
  
“No...no, that’s fine. Thanks.” Absently, she handed a few bills over to him and slid out of the cab. There was no door in the front of this building, and she stared up at it again, wondering what to do now. _ What would Theon do? Well, that’s a stupid question. Theon knows how to get here better than he knows how to get to my dorm. But there has to be a way in here somehow _ .... Off to her right she heard a creak, and the heavy metal slam of a door. Her interest piqued, she craned her neck and found an alley. _ Oh, honey, this really  is a bad idea. They’re going to find you cut to pieces here tomorrow morning...but this is how you get into speakeasies, right? There was that one near the quad and you heard people in your home ec class say these kinds of places are never marked. Just go. Go quick, and if you don’t see anything, then you don’t see anything. _

__  
Steeling herself, Mya crept down the dark, musty alley. Her footsteps sounded loud, and the sudden clattering of a cat leaping out of a garbage can nearly scared her out of her wits. She stumbled against the dirty alley wall and cringed, feeling the squelch of city filth on her wool coat. Ahead, she saw a handful of cars - one small, a few larger ones. None she recognized. She approached a rusty iron door, the only one she could see, and knocked tentatively. A small grate  
opened up, and half an ugly, pockmarked face peered down at her. The other half was hidden by the door, and, presumably, was just as ugly.  
  
“Password?” The face grunted.  
  
Password?! Mya shook her head. Robb hadn’t said anything about a password.  _Of course he wouldn’t know it, he’s never been here._ “I-...I don’t-”  
  
“Fuck off.” The grate slammed shut.  
  
“Hey!” Mya exclaimed. She pounded on the door again. “Come on,  open up! This is important!”  
  
The grate snapped open again. “No password, no entry. Now stop raising a ruckus or else you’re gonna make me mad.”  
  
“ _I’m_ gonna make _ you _ mad?” Somewhere deep inside Mya something had finally snapped and given way. “I don’t really give a...a rat’s ass if I make you mad!” Somewhere equally as deep, she felt scandalized at her own language, but she didn’t let it deter her. She realized her voice was growing louder, and shrill to boot. “I need to get in there and talk to Asha Greyjoy and you’re going to let me, you big palooka! Now, I don’t know about you but I can stand here and yell at you all day and attract the attention of everyone within three blocks of here. So you want me to do that, or are you going to let me in?”  
  
Even though the thick steel door she heard him shuck a shell into a shotgun. “I could just shoot you right now, angelface.”   
  
Mya raised her chin. “I would prefer you didn’t.”   
  
Before he could respond, the ugly face turned away and Mya heard a second voice speaking sharply. The bouncer’s lower tones rumbled, annoyed, and Mya swore she caught a fast glint of a second set of eyes peering out at her. Keys clanked, and the steel door creaked as it opened. The bouncer stood in the doorway, a hulking slab of muscle and intimidation and, Mya saw, a shotgun. He nodded jerkily at Mya. “In. Now.”  
  
Mya squared her shoulders, shot what she hoped was a cocky glare at the bouncer, and strode into the cool blackness of Asha’s club.


	6. Edge of the Blade

It was a quarter past five in the evening, and Theon’s head was still pounding like he’d taken a beating. He’d drank himself into a stupor last night, after that disastrous date with Mya, and all the coffee in the world wasn’t enough to soothe his aching head. He’d sat at his desk most of the day, glaring at Lancel Lannister every time the kid so much as moved, and simultaneously hoping the telephone would and wouldn’t ring.  
  
He’d given Mya a call when he’d slunk in around noon, but that goddamn Eloise Hedgen had answered, smugly informing him that Mya had classes and work until  _at least_ five o’clock. Sometimes he swore that girl just hung around the telephone, waiting for him to call so she could berate him. He’d hung up on her when she’d started in about Mya being in tears the night before, and who did he think he was, anyway? He hadn’t left a message, but he had no doubt Mya would hear about his call...he’d been rude enough, she’d probably hear about it for weeks.  
  
Theon rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at his watch again. 5:17. He couldn’t decide whether to be worried or annoyed that she hadn’t called him back yet. Settling on annoyed, he stood and pushed his chair in.  _Might as well hit the streets, see if you can find any working girls to chat with_ _,_ he told himself.  _Earn your pay, why don’t ya?_ Wouldn’t he look good, if he could get a break on the case by the time Robb got back?  
  
Selmy and most of the others had already left, and Lannister was cleaning out the toilets, so he didn’t bother with goodbyes or signing out. He looked at the pegboard of keys by the front desk, contemplating taking a squad car like Selmy had ordered. But Theon wasn’t much for orders, and he had a sweet Rolls Royce waiting for him out back. Besides, no prostitute in her right mind would talk to a copper in a squad car. He raised a choice finger at Selmy’s darkened office and went out into the fading light of day.  
  
Pulling out of the precinct lot, he tossed his jacket over the bench seat and fumbled one-handed in the glove box, pushing aside rubbers and car manuals until he found what he was looking for: his flask. He took a long pull, grimacing at the warm liquor, and wedged the flask between his thighs as he drove.   
  
Cruising the streets without any particular destination, Theon kept one eye out for any girls he knew, while his mind wandered fitfully. He wondered if Mya had tried reaching him at his desk yet, or if she was trying to wait him out.  _Joke’s on her_ , he thought with a smirk,  _‘cause two can play that game_ . But in the same breath, he had a thought that made him go numb and reach for his flask again.  
  
_She knows far too much to be playing games_ , the thought crossed his mind unbidden, and refused to leave. Mya was strong, he knew that, he’d seen it first-hand after Pyke. But he’d also seen how shaken she was after her interview at the  _Lantern_ , the distant look in her eyes when she’d told him about the portrait of Mace Tyrell hanging in the lobby. He thought she might be more disturbed by his bad deeds than he was, and that was saying a lot.  
  
No, no matter what the disagreement was, they were bound together by his secrets and his family, and he couldn’t leave her to deal with those on her own. Theon resolved to run over and pick her up for an impromptu date after he’d done a bit of work for the day. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was in an awful part of town, Flea Bottom, and the streets were positively crawling with raggedy children, slouching old men, and, yes, whores.   
  
These girls were a little low-rent for his tastes, though he did see a few that looked familiar. He supposed he’d probably arrested most of them at one time or another, and tried not to think of the odds that he’d fucked more than a few of them. Theon drove slowly, and the girls were falling all over themselves to pick him up; a young man in a luxury automobile would be worth days of work to these girls, used to turning tricks for blue-collar joes who didn’t have two nickles to rub together.  
  
But Theon was watching closely, and from what he could see, these girls were all long-time pros, most of them with pimps sitting on stoops, watching their investments. Theon kept in mind what Brynden Tully had told him, and kept his eyes peeled for a girl who looked new to town, unsure of her surroundings. One girl, a buxom bottle-blonde, leaned on the hood of the Rolls as he waited at a light. Revving the engine, he made an impatient gesture at her, and she sauntered off, flipping the bird at him.  
  
Finally, cruising down a side street, he saw a girl alone, unsteady in her heels and short flapper dress. She stopped and smiled when she saw him, jutting one hip out in what he assumed was supposed to be a seductive pose, flipping her dishwater blonde hair rather frenetically. Randomly, Theon wondered why so many cheap whores were blonde. He glanced around, thinking quickly, as he rolled down his window.  
  
“Hey sweetheart, got a minute?” He called out.   
  
“Sure thing,” she replied, coming over to lean in the window. “Got a couple minutes, just for you.”  
  
Theon snorted. “Whatever you say, doll. How ‘bout not in the middle of the street, though?” He nodded towards an alley wide enough to drive down. “Maybe a little privacy?”  
  
“You got it, buddy,” she said, and he pulled the Rolls in behind her, parking and hopping out of the car before she could try and get in. “Hey now, hey...” she said nervously, “let’s just do it in the car, why don’t we?”  
  
Theon responded by pulling out his badge, flashing it at her with a sharp grin. “Let’s not. I want to have a chat, and I don’t want anyone getting the idea I tried anything with you.”  
  
The hooker began to back away, panic showing clearly in her dull brown eyes. “I’ll stop, I swear, only please don’t arrest me...”  
  
He held up a hand, leaning on the hood of the Rolls lazily. “That’s not what I’m after, so relax. I just want information.” The girl eyed him suspiciously, and Theon sighed. “I’ll pay you for your time, of course.” He pulled a few crumpled ones from his pocket, and the girl’s eyes lit up.  
  
“S-sure, alright. What kind of information you want, honey?” She slunk back over, snatching the bills from his hand. “I’m pretty new in town, though, I don’t know a whole lot...”  
  
 _ Perfect , _ he thought.  _Exactly like Brynden said_ . “That’s fine, doll, just fine,” he said soothingly. “Just a few questions, is all. First things first, how long’ve you been in town? Few days, few weeks, what?”  
  
“Oh, ‘bout two weeks, I guess,” she replied, biting her lip nervously, as if she could somehow answer wrong. “I came lookin’ for a friend of mine from home-”  
  
“Which is where?” He asked, though he really couldn’t’ve cared less. “And what was the friend’s name?”  
  
“Middle of nowhere,” she laughed bitterly. “Acorn Hollow, it’s called. Jenny was the friend I was lookin’ for, Jenny Hill. Nobody ‘round here seems to have seen her though...” The girl’s eyes went distant for a moment, her voice wistful.  
  
“Description? And what’s  _your_ name, by the way?” Theon said brusquely. He didn’t have time for reminiscing, or for games. “Your  _ real _ name.”  
  
“Susan,” she replied, shivering slightly as a gust of wind slipped down the alley. “Susan West. And Jenny was a tall girl, blonde like me,” Theon held back a snort, but only just. “Blue eyes, though, the prettiest blue eyes...”  
  
“How tall, would you say?” He was taking mental notes, he’d forgotten a damn pen again, so his notepad was useless. “As tall as me, or no?”  
  
She eyed him, wrapping her arms around herself. “Not quite, no. But only an inch or two shorter, probl’y. And not  _nearly_ as skinny,” she laughed softly. “Jenny had curves on her, she didn’t have the flapper figure...” She trailed off as an old truck puttered past the mouth of the alley, white smoke belching from its exhaust.  
  
Theon nodded, distracted. Tall, thick, blue eyes...it sounded familiar, for some reason. “And tell me, Susan, have you had any...strange fellas since you started, ah,” he gestured vaguely, “Y’know...”  
  
The girl blinked twice, staring at him dully. “None of them have been exactly normal. How long is this gonna take, I’m freezin’ out here...”  
  
“I don’t know. Hang on, I’ve got a blanket or something...” Theon went around to the back of the car, pausing to try and remember exactly what he was carrying. He was pretty sure there was only one case of ‘shine, so he popped the trunk and began rooting around for the blanket. “Keep talking. Any real nutso johns? I’m talking violent, or maybe real quiet. A rich guy, probably... Susan?”   
  
Finally finding the blanket, he slammed the trunk shut and tossed it at the girl. “Hey, ya don’t have-” she started, then her eyes went wide. Theon felt a presence at his back in the same moment, but it felt cold and almost...inhuman. He began to turn, but a thick, meaty arm snaked around his neck, forcing his head forward and upwards, and a sickly-sweet smell began to overwhelm him.   
  
_Chloroform? ...the fuck?_ Theon had time to think, locking eyes with Susan as he struggled in vain.  _Run, you dumb twat..._ But she didn’t, she just stared with dull, lifeless eyes, and she was blurring now, her form barely recognizable. He felt hot breath on his neck, and then a horribly normal voice was whispering in his ear, “I take offense to the term ‘nutso’. But no matter, this is neither the time nor the place. We’ll discuss it further later.”  
  
\-------------------  
  
 **Interlude**  
  
He looked at the form displayed before him, tilting his head contemplatively. This one was lean. Long and lean and well-muscled. He would’ve preferred a little more fat on the bones, but that wasn’t the only thing wrong with it. It was different, a male, falling well-outside of his usual flavor. He hadn’t  meant to take it, but he’d had no choice. If he’d left it laying in the alley someone else would’ve stumbled across it and he couldn’t have that. It was too dangerous still.  
  
He took a step closer and prodded its chest with ungraceful fingers. Definitely not enough fat on this one. But still, it had a sturdy look to it. It’d probably last longer than his others...he fished through its pockets and came out with a battered, worn leather wallet. Nothing much of interest in it: a few crumpled bills, a receipt, some rubbers, and a driver’s license. He pulled it out and and looked at the name, rubbing a thumb over the print. He usually didn’t like to think of his projects as having names, but again, this one was different. Looking blankly at the name, he let it  roam around in his head for a bit before tucking it away neatly. The last name he knew, and knew well. It was the same as the man who’d paid him handsomely to go public with his projects, as it were.  _The one at the stationhouse...that one was well done. Not the best, but definitely not the worst_ . He rooted around deeper in the pocket, his fingers brushing something leather and metal. Grasping it, he pulled out a policeman’s badge and felt a dim flash of...not surprise. Not dread. Just a little feeling was all. This one was a cop. That added a certain appeal to it, to be sure.  
  
Reaching up, he tilted its face up and examined it in the dusty light filtering through a high window. It hadn’t woken up yet, but that was to be expected. He’d used maybe a little too much chloroform, and may’ve left the rag tossed carelessly over its face on the short drive over.  _One of the fuzz, and a Greyjoy at that. I’m going to have a lot of fun with this one, I think._   
  
He left it there, hanging by its wrists against a filthy brick wall. He’d come back to it later, once it was awake.  _They’re always more fun awake_ , he thought as he closed the door behind him. He was in another room now, a smaller, cooler one. It didn’t have much in it. A long metal table, an overhead light prone to flickering, and a little stand with his little toys on it. Here was his fun for today. This one was more his style - small, slightly plump, and, oh...here he smiled. This one had woken up. It struggled against the bonds holding it to the table. There was fear in those wide, mud-colored eyes, and the noises slipping around the gag in its mouth made his plump lips curve slowly into a smile. He reached down and stroked its forehead, twining his fingers in the coarse dyed hair. “You’re not hurting, are you, sweetling?” It shook its head, still whimpering, and he nodded, frowning slightly as tears worked out of its eyes. “Good. Don’t cry now, alright? If you’re not hurt, don’t cry. We won’t be long here.” He saw it trying to control itself, sniffling slightly and working its slightly thick jaw against the gag. “That’s better. Now, if I take that out of your mouth, you won’t scream, will you?” Another headshake, and he made a content noise in his throat. He enjoyed talking to his projects, as much as he enjoyed talking with himself. It helped him to think out loud, to hear his voice work things through.  
  
He turned towards his tray then and closed his eyes, letting his fingers do the selecting. He felt a small, thin piece of metal and smiled again, gripping it carefully. Turning back to the table, he held it up in the light.  _One of my favorites_ . He sighed, though, as his project saw it and started to scream, struggling harder against its bonds and crying again. He pursed his lips and looked down at it disapprovingly. “Well, I can’t take that out of your mouth now, can I?” He tapped a finger against its chin and it turned its face away, choking on the oily cloth a little. “Save your screams.”  
  
It couldn’t, of course. None of them could once he got started on them. After a minute he stepped back and tilted his head again. He had to raise his voice over the screams and sobs and shrieks it was making, and that annoyed him. “What did I tell you?” He tossed his blade down on the tray along with two paper-thin strips of skin. Eyelids really weren’t that substantial once you’d removed them, he found. Delicate and fragile as spun sugar. And his project had been thrashing around a bit too much. He’d knicked one of those mud-brown eyeballs in the process, and it was bleeding  _everywhere_ now. He wiped his hands on a clean rag and left it for now, still screaming and crying and bleeding. He’d have to look into head restraints if he wanted to get any better.  
  
\------------------  
  
Theon came to gradually, but eventually screams ripped the fog of peaceful unconsciousness to shreds, and he was fully awake, if groggy. He remembered...oh God, it was so hard to remember with this dull ache in his head, and the sharper pain of his shoulders. His shoulders...Theon lifted his head, wincing at the effect it had, the way it intensified the pain. His arms were chained above his head, attached to some sort of winch, and he could feel damp, moldy brick at his back. A small amount of light came in from a smudged window high above, but the way his arms were pinned made it hard for him to use the light to see much at all.  
  
Another scream, from somewhere not far, made him flinch back against the wall. The scream was positively inhuman, although the detective in Theon noted that it sounded like it was coming through not only walls, but a gag of some sort. He tried to lift his head again, but fuck, it hurt so much...and his face. He opened his mouth experimentally, choking out a hoarse ‘Hello?’, followed by a stifled cry. His throat was sore, sure, but his  _face_ ... As soon as he’d moved a muscle, his lips and cheeks had seemed to crack like dry clay, followed by an intense burning.  
  
_The chloroform_ ... It all began to come back to him, what’d happened. Susy, or Susan, whatever the hooker’s name had been, he’d been getting her a blanket from the trunk, and then someone,  _some_ thing ,  had snuck up behind him and knocked him out with chloroform. Theon was trying to concentrate, trying to remember anything he could, but the screaming had intensified, and it was quickly becoming unbearable to listen to. He struggled feebly against the wall, but that only served to wrench his shoulder joints further upwards, and he quickly stopped, not wanting  _both_ his shoulders thrown out of joint. He slumped against the chains and let the pain take over, blessedly passing out once again.  
  
When he awoke a second time, it was instant, but no less painful. The hollow clang of a metal door echoed through the now-dark building, not far off. Theon didn’t struggle, didn’t yell...he’d remembered the cold, inhuman feel of the... _thing_ , he thought, mouth twisting with disgust, and he’d decided, without even knowing it, that he wouldn’t give  _it_ the satisfaction of pleading or screaming. He could hear footsteps now, definitely drawing nearer, and he took a few deep breaths, readying himself.  
  
The deep breathing distracted him for a split second, the smell of the place overwhelming once he noticed it. It was old, and musty and dank, but underneath, there was a festering hint of decay and slaughter that made Theon’s insides roil. Before he had time to dwell on it, the footsteps were there, bringing a big, fleshy man into view. Size aside, he looked surprisingly normal...except for his eyes. They were a pale, washed-out shade of blue-grey, and utterly devoid of anything resembling human emotion. And Theon recognized them, plucking the name from his memory after suppressing a moment of panic.  
  
“R-ramsay. Ramsay Bolton.” The name stuck in his throat, dryer than dust, finally spilling out past his chloroform-blistered lips. The man blinked once, pushing a damp lock of hair from his face with the back of a hand. In the hand was a slim scalpel, and Theon could see the hand and scalpel alike were slick with blood. It left a bright, ludicrously festive, streak across Bolton’s forehead, and Theon felt his mouth curl into a nervous, painful smile.  
  
“Detective Theon Greyjoy,” the man replied, an odd smile playing across his lips as well. It wasn’t a pleasant smile; it made Theon shudder slightly, although he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide it. “You’ve been looking for me, it seems.”  
  
“Me and all the rest of the Kingsport PD, Bolton,” Theon only knew the man vaguely, they traveled in slightly overlapping social circles, although from what he could remember, which, admittedly, wasn’t much, the Boltons were all a bit reclusive.  _Well, and here’s why...they’re stark-raving nuts. Or at least this one is_ ... “It won’t be long now.”  
  
Ramsay’s odd little smile grew, and he stepped closer, uncomfortably so. “I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me if I seem unconcerned. You all have done a piss-poor job of finding me so far, I really don’t expect that will change anytime soon.”  
  
“I found you, didn’t-” Theon bit off the rest of his sentence as Ramsay laid the bloody scalpel across his lips. The coppery tang of blood flooded his senses, and all Theon could think of was the rare, bloody steak he’d had the night before. His gorge rose, and he scrambled back against the wall as best he could, desperate to get away.  
  
“No, Detective, I found  _you_ . You couldn’t find your own ass with two hands and a magnifying glass,” Ramsay’s smile twisted into something resembling a smirk as he dragged the scalpel down Theon’s chin, tracing the line of his throat and letting the blade circle his Adam’s apple. “No doubt someone will eventually notice you missing,” he nicked the hollow of Theon’s throat lightly and moved lower, using the scalpel to cut the buttons off his shirt. Theon heard them fall to the floor, clicking faintly on the smooth tile. “But not for a while. And in the meantime, we’ll have  so  much fun.”


	7. Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Asha hung up the phone, a wide smile creasing her sharp features, and turned to the bar of her club, sparsely populated at the moment. “Drinks for everyone, on the house,” she sang out, grabbing a bottle from the top shelf. Today was shaping up to be a good day, and she was feeling generous. Even her idiot brother not showing up to get his shipment couldn’t put a damper on her mood.  
  
Passing out the free round, she poured her uncle Aeron, a former alkie, a soda water and slid it down the bar to him. “Your brother’s staying abroad another month, uncle, what do ya think about that?”  
  
“Just more work for us, niece.” Aeron didn’t smile, he almost never smiled, but Asha could tell he was pleased, despite his words. She’d always had a strong bond with her uncles, although Aeron had been much more entertaining before he’d sobered up and become a religious fanatic. “And from whom did you hear this wondrous news, that was worth giving away your livelihood for?”  
  
Asha rolled her eyes.  _As if one measly round is hurting anything, for Chrissake_ ... “Who do ya think? Uncle Vic, of course. He’s coming in from Pyke now, him and Qarl are gonna split Theon’s deliveries if he doesn’t show soon.”  
  
A hint of disapproval crossed Aeron’s face, but this time Asha couldn’t decipher exactly why. It could be because of Theon not showing, but he’d been  very thorough since the incident with his little gal pal, even though it was quite clearly taking a toll on him. Last time she’d seen her brother, he’d looked haggard and worn, and had been chain-smoking like a fiend. Asha was inclined to let this one time go, provided, of course, he had a half-way decent excuse.  
  
But she doubted it was Theon her godly uncle was concerned about. She’d heard enough grumbling from him about her  inappropriate behaviour with his brother, her other uncle, Vic. Asha shook her head, giving her uncle a quirked smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  _He preaches family above all else ‘til he’s blue in the face...well, this is what he gets._ On some level, she knew her and Vic were treading a thin line; Lord knew, she’d heard it enough from him, as well as Aeron, but he never stayed away, never told her no, so Asha had never worried about it overmuch.  
  
“So, unc,” Asha began, trying to lighten the mood. “What’re the odds your big brother’ll come home with a wife, d’you think?” Euron had been implying for some time that he had every intention of marrying some unlucky woman and getting an heir to the Greyjoy empire on her. For Asha’s part, it made her queasy to think about Euron having offspring. “I’ll give ya 3 to 1.”  
  
“You know I don’t bet, girl,” Aeron was solemn, but she could tell the topic intrigued him. “But I do think that was one purpose of his trip. He mentioned it to me before he left, although it is often hard to tell if Euron is being serious or mocking you.” He swirled his glass of plain soda water thoughtfully. “He also mentioned finding another wife for Victarion.”

  
“Fuck off,” Asha spit out before she could even think, a little flame of jealousy kindling in her breast. “He wouldn’t. And Uncle Vic would never let him...” She trailed off as Aeron raised his head, peering at her with sharp, all-seeing eyes.  
  
“Oh, wouldn’t he?” Aeron drained his glass and rose, straightening his priestly collar. “And don’t think you’re safe, either. The only reason he hasn’t made a match for you yet is you make him too much money, and a husband would interfere with that. So don’t make it a habit of giving away rounds every day...”  
  
Before Asha could reply, they both heard a commotion coming from the dark hallway leading to the hidden door of the club, followed by the distinctive sound of the old pump-action shotgun kept up front chambering a round. They exchanged a look, and Asha grabbed her own sawed-off shotgun from under the bar, while her uncle merely patted his hip. She knew he had a small piece, a cheap pistol that was, quality not withstanding, always loaded. The two of them headed down the hall, and Lefty turned to face Asha, gun in hand.  
  
“Got a lost little girl out here causin’ a fuss, boss. Says she’s lookin’ for you.”  
  
Asha blinked, shouldering past the brutally ugly bouncer and peering through the grate herself.  _Mya? What in the hell is_ she _doing here?_ A small twinge of something, not fear, not panic, but... concern , made itself known in the corner of her mind. First Theon didn’t show up at his normal time, and now his straight-as-an-arrow girlfriend was just dropping by? Something wasn’t right...  
  
“Get her inside, before she causes me problems,” Asha said, and Lefty began to undo the locks on the door. “And when my uncle Vic gets here, send him right to me.” Turning to her uncle, she went on. “Unc, clear out my office a bit, would ya? I don’t know what she wants, but whatever it is, private’s always best.” Aeron nodded once and went to do as she asked. Not for the first time, Asha was grateful that, whatever their differences, her uncles always had her back. There wasn’t anyone else she’d trust with the $2,000 currently in neat stacks on her scuffed desk.  
  
Crossing her arms, she turned back to face the door. Lefty had drawn Mya into the hallway, and the dark-haired girl stood blinking in the darkness as he bolted the door behind her. When she spotted Asha, however, her spine stiffened and her chin raised stubbornly. “What’ve you all done with him? He’s done everything you asked, and never complained once, and it’s  _killing_ him, and-”  
  
_Worse and worse_ ... Asha thought, raising a hand to forestall any more questions from the girl. “Stop. Follow me, we’ll go to my office.” Mya opened her mouth as if to protest, but when Asha shouldered her shotgun, she shut it again with a snap and followed meekly. The patrons at the bar barely glanced up from their drinks when the two women came into the room, and Asha quickly stowed her piece back under the bar, grabbing a bottle of liquor and a few glasses while she was back there. “Alright, let’s go,” she said, nodding towards her office.

  
No sooner had Asha got the door shut then Mya was on her again, and by God if she didn’t have a finger wagging right in Asha’s face. “Tell me what he’s done, Asha, that warranted this. You tell me. Lord knows, Theon’s not perfect, but he’s been working so hard-”  
  
Asha was mildly impressed with the guts Mya was displaying, but she wasn’t about to let this girl boss her around, especially when she didn’t even know what she was talking about. “Hold your horses there, Mya. Sit, why don’t ya? Slow down and tell me what you’re talking about.” She poured a drink for herself, glanced at her uncle, who waved it off, and then at Mya. “Need a snort?”  
  
Mya sat shakily on the leather sofa opposite where Asha was perched on the edge of the desk. “I...no.” Aeron continued counting bills, long fingers flying through the stacks, but she could tell he was listening intently as well. “I didn’t come for a drink, I came to find out what I have to do to get Theon back.”  
  
Asha sipped her whiskey, stalling. She had no idea what the girl was talking about, but she didn’t want to come off as weak, especially not in front of her uncle. “We don’t have him, doll. You sure he didn’t just run along North after his little friend?” Asha’s mouth twisted a bit at the thought of Robb Stark. It had always rankled that her brother would be so close to the son of the man that had killed his own blood.  
  
“No, I’m positive he didn’t,” Mya’s voice grew stronger, more confident, with every word she spoke. “I spoke with Robb already, and he hadn’t heard from him either. He’s the one who told me where I could find...this place,” she waved her hand vaguely, then looked at it as if it weren’t part of her own body and laced her fingers back together quickly. Asha could see her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip, and realized the girl was just barely keeping it together. “And he knows I came here, so if anything happens to  _me_ ...”  
  
“Nothing’s gonna happen to you, Mya,” Asha drained her drink and poured another, ignoring her uncle’s disapproving frown. “And we don’t have Theon either, do we uncle Aeron?” She asked, turning slightly to face him. His face was solemn, and he set down the pile of cash he’d been counting.  
  
“No, we do not. Theon’s work has been most satisfactory of late, both of my brothers have told me this,” Aeron spoke slowly, stroking his beard. “We would have no reason to take any disciplinary action.” Asha had been fairly sure before, but if Aeron said they didn’t have him, then it was certain...even on the outside chance she hadn’t known about it, Aeron would have.  
  
“Now see, if uncle Aeron says it, it’s gotta be true, Mya. He is a priest, y’know.”  
  
Mya narrowed her eyes at them both. “I’m not saying I do believe you, but even if I did, it’s still got to be related to you all somehow. This family...” she made a face, as if smelling something unpleasant. “You’ve got to have enemies, maybe one of them...?”  
“Enemies? Not as many as you might think, actually.” Asha traced the lip of her glass, wishing her uncle Vic would just hurry up and arrive already. “Our biggest enemies are Theon’s friends,” she said, smiling bitterly. “So unless the police’ve done something with him...”  
  
“Barristan Selmy is the one who called me and said he hadn’t shown up for work today,” Mya said, unclenching and reclenching her fingers in her lap. “I told him he went up to Winterfell. I didn’t know what else...” She looked up, suddenly fierce. “I didn’t want him to lose his job because of  _you_ .”  
  
Asha was surprised that the girl had had the gumption to lie to the chief of police.  _Will wonders never cease...maybe my baby brother picked a halfway decent one after all_ . “That was quick thinking,” was all Asha said, though. “Good job.”  
  
Mya made an impatient noise. “So if  _you_ don’t have him, and you can’t think of anyone who does, then where is he?”  
  
“Mya...my brother is-” Asha started, then stopped, trying to think how to put what she wanted to say. “Remember what I told you on Pyke? About staying away from him?” The other girl opened her mouth indignantly, but Asha went on, not letting her get a word in. “He’s not a stand-up fella. Tell me, did you two have a little spat recently, maybe?” Mya nodded mutely. “Well, maybe he just got sick of it all...” Asha shrugged, although she privately doubted that was the case.  
  
“No.” Mya stood up so fast Asha leaned back in surprise. “You aren’t just going to sit there and tell me he ran away from  _everything_ , because of one little disagreement. You don’t even  _know_ your brother,” she continued, taking two quick steps until she was right in front of Asha. “He’s a better person than any of you are!”  
  
Before Asha could respond, she heard the distinctive creak of her office door. Peeking over Mya’s shoulder, she watched as her uncle Vic booted the door wide open, trying to maneuver the narrow doorway while carrying a case of rum with a pile of mail stacked atop the bottles. As usual, her belly flipped pleasantly at the sight of him, black hair still damp from the boat ride in and shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. He was Greyjoy through and through, and the only person Asha trusted implicitly.  
  
Vic took in the scene with no small measure of confusion, casting a dark glance at the three of them. “What the fuck is this all about?” He asked, stooping to set the case by the door and standing with the large bundle of envelopes atop it. “He’s sending  _you_ now? I swear, I thought that boy had more sense-” A slightly hysterical laugh slipped out of Mya’s mouth, but she clapped a hand over it, silencing herself.  
  
“Our nephew seems to have gone missing, brother,” Aeron said when neither Asha nor Mya spoke up. “Miss Stone here thought perhaps he was with his family.”  
  
“I didn’t think he came willingly!” Mya piped up. “I thought you all  _took_ him, like you took me!” Asha noted the way her voice quavered slightly.  _She loves him...poor idiot girl._   
  
Vic dropped onto the leather couch with a weary air, running a hand through his hair and flicking through the mail. “Well, we didn’t. Niece.” He leaned forward at the last, motioning to the bottle of whiskey. “What exactly do we know? How long’s he been gone, who knows he’s missing, what?”   
  
Asha rolled her eyes slightly, but poured him a generous helping all the same. He knew she hated when he called her ‘niece’. “Not a whole lot, really. His boss called Mya just a little bit ago, sayin’ he hadn’t been in to work today.” Taking a sip from his glass, she brushed past Mya, ignoring the way the girl flinched away from her, and sat beside her uncle, draping her legs over his lap. “And he’s not with the Stark boy, she phoned him up already. He told her where to find us.”  
  
“Robb Stark knows where to find us?” Vic sighed, tossing an envelope and a postcard in her lap. “That’s fuckin’ wonderful. What’s the card say?” Asha squinted at it. It was from her uncle Euron, whose writing was notoriously hard to decipher.  
  
“I think it says he bought a new bo-”  
  
“Oh stop it!” Mya cried out. “Aren’t you concerned at  _all_ ?” She sat down in the chair across from the couch, gripping the arms as if her life depended on it. “If you don’t have him, then I don’t know where else he could be!”  
  
Mya’s panic was beginning to get Asha a bit nervous herself, but Vic just glanced up at her, eyes hooded. “Probably holed up with some whore, you ask me. Boy’s always had a taste for ‘em.” He went back to sorting the mail, thick fingers brushing against Asha’s calves as he flipped through envelopes. He held up the last one, giving it a shake. “Huh, this one’s kinda heavy.”  
  
Asha was watching Mya, who’d turned bright red at the whore suggestion. She couldn’t deny the same thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but her little brother had never been one to stick around after getting busy. And besides, Roz had just been complaining not two days ago that she hadn’t seen Theon in a while. Asha had no doubt he saw other whores, but she happened to know Roz was his favorite.  
  
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the feel of her uncle’s hand on her calf again, gripping tightly this time. “Asha,” he said, handing her the envelope he’d just been looking at. “Look at this, will ya, and tell me what you think it is.” He kept his voice even, but the way he’d grabbed ahold of her leg ratcheted up her nerves yet again.  
  
The envelope was plain and slightly bulged out, with brown specks on it as if it had been splattered with mud. She squeezed it by the sides and peered in, shaking the envelope slightly to get a better look.  _ What _ is _that_ ...?  Asha reached her hand in and pulled out the rectangular leather wallet within. It was slightly tacky to the touch, and when she got it out into the light, she saw the dark brown leather was stained almost black.   
  
“Oh God...” Mya’s voice caught, hovering at the edge of a sob. “Give it to me, Asha,” she demanded, holding a hand out. “Give it here.”  
  
But Asha had to see for herself. She flipped the front up, and just as quickly shut it, clenching her jaw and smacking the wallet against her uncle’s broad chest. “You know what it is,” she said, voice raw. “He’s not with any goddamn hooker, and there’s the proof.” For all his faults, Theon was her brother, her only living brother, and the sight of his silver badge crusted with dried blood made her more furious that she would’ve thought.  
  
Vic flicked the wallet open, simply raising an eyebrow at the bloody badge, and tossed it to Mya. The girl had been sitting with a hand pressed to her mouth, as if stifling a sob or a scream, but she caught the sticky leather wallet with a deft hand. Randomly, Asha recalled Theon telling her that the girl he was taking out was a tennis player. The memory fled in the next moment, when the sob Mya had been holding back was wrenched from her throat.   
  
Asha watched dully as Mya cradled the badge with both hands, bent almost double by the force of her sobs. “I told you!” She was crying, “I t-told you something was wrong! Oh God, w-what am I going to do? I can’t...can’t...” She’d gone white as milk, and Asha could see she was close to hysterics, which was the last thing they needed at the moment. “P-please, I need R-robb!”  
  
“Mya! Snap out of it!” Asha snatched the tumbler of whiskey out of her uncle’s hand, ignoring his rumble of protest, and knelt in front of the sobbing wreck of a girl across from her. Mya scrambled back in the chair as far as she could, but Asha grabbed her by the chin and held her fast. “Now stop it, you’re no use to him like this. Drink,” she said, forcing the glass into Mya’s hand.  
  
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue, but just raised the glass to her lips and took a healthy sip, nose wrinkling at the taste. When she’d swallowed, Asha released her chin, watching to see the other girl’s reaction. She took a deep breath, nodded once, and laced her fingers together tightly, speaking precisely, as if rationing each word.  
  
“Thank you, that helped. Will you help me find him, Asha? Robb will help too, I know he will.” She opened her mouth as if to go on, then stopped when Asha shook her head. “What? Why?”  
  
“Robb Stark is a cop, a  _real_ cop,” Asha said, standing slowly. The sudden flash of rage she’d felt had burned through her quickly, and now all she felt was a dull ache in her chest and an overwhelming desire to get rid of this girl and her dour uncle Aeron, who hadn’t spoken a word, but was simply sitting with his hands steepled under his chin, listening. “He’ll arrest any Greyjoy he can get his hands on, and you know it. No, I’m not working with him.”

  
Mya stood then, toe to toe with Asha. “Even if it means your brother’s life? What if I can promise you, _ guarantee _ you, that he won’t arrest you?”  
  
Behind her, Asha heard her uncle Vic snort. “Please. You can’t guarantee that, girl. That Stark boy is his father’s son. But Theon is blood.” He pushed himself up off the couch with a grunt, standing behind Asha and resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. She resisted the urge to lean back into him...time for that soon enough. “If Stark so much as touches my niece, however, there’ll be hell to pay. Got it?”  
  
“I understand,” Mya said simply. “He won’t though. He...” She swallowed hard, and Asha sensed she’d been about to say something, but changed her mind. “He just won’t.”  
  
“Good,” Vic replied, and his hand tightened on Asha’s shoulder, a comforting pressure. “Now, I think it’s time for you to run on home.”  
  
Mya blinked, rubbing the badge that was still in her hand nervously. “I...I took a cab here. And I used all my money on it. I didn’t even bring my handbag.” A slightly panicked look crossed her face, and Asha saw her pulse jump in her neck. “Maybe, if I could just call Robb, he could come get me?”  
  
A cough came from behind the desk, and they all turned to look at Aeron, who had been largely so silent. “I do not think that wise, Miss Stone. Let us not test the limits of this Stark who is so much like his father before him. I must be leaving...I can take you to him, or to your home, whichever you prefer.”   
  
Asha could’ve kissed her uncle Aeron in that moment, but Mya stared at him as if he’d just grown a second head. “I...what? No, I really couldn’t...” She glanced at Asha in panic, but she’d get no help from that quarter. Asha was desperate to be rid of her now, and just stared at her stone-faced. Mya sighed resignedly. “Fine, that will be fine. I want to go to Riverrun.”  
  
Aeron stood, tucking a wad of cash into a concealed pocket of his robes, and nodded at Asha and Vic. “Niece. Brother. I trust you will keep me informed on the situation. If I can be of any assistance, do not hesitate to call on me. Miss Stone?” He motioned to the door, but Mya turned back to Asha.  
  
“Please, just...phone Robb,” She grabbed Asha’s hand, looking somewhat surprised at her own impulsiveness. “I know he’ll work with you to find Theon.”  
  
“I’ll do it right now,” Asha promised, disentangling her hand from Mya’s grip and crossing to the telephone. “What’s the number over there? I only know Theon’s line.”  
  
“443RVR,” Mya rattled off.  
  
Asha nodded, dialing the number even as Aeron put a hand on Mya’s shoulder and ushered her out of the room, the door closing with a soft click behind them. The phone barely rang one time, and a pleasant-sounding, if audibly stressed, young man answered. “Stark residence, this is Robb.”  
  
“Robb, do you know who this is?” Asha was hesitant to reveal too much information over the telephone, you just never knew who was listening.  
  
There was a long pause, and she heard him draw a deep breath. “I think I do. We have a...mutual friend we’d like to see returned to us, yes?”  _So he’s figured out we don’t have him_ , she thought.  _Good, that could’ve been bad news._   
  
“Two mutual friends, in fact. The second one is on her way there now. She’ll fill ya in on the latest. We should meet... _not_ here,” she said, forestalling the protest she saw on her uncle Vic’s face. She could hear a woman’s voice in the background, soft and low.  
  
“No, not there,” he replied. “I was thinking it might be best to bring my uncle in on this.” Asha knew immediately who he meant. Brynden Tully was well-known in many circles of Kingsport society, including hers. “Do you know his address?”  
  
“I can figure it out,” she replied. “Tomorrow morning, first thing. I want my baby brother back.”   
  
Surprised at the amount of emotion in her own voice, she hung up the phone as Robb was still talking, going on about how Theon was a brother to him too. She didn’t give two shits about that.  
  
Asha leaned against the desk a moment, debating on having another glass of whiskey. She glanced at her uncle, who was finishing what was left of his in one long swallow, a vein in his neck pulsing as he drank. The idea of whiskey suddenly paled beside the thought of pressing her lips to that steady beat, of tasting the salt from the bay on his skin. Pushing off the desk, she went to him and took the glass out of his hand, standing between his sprawled legs, waiting.  
  
“Asha...” Vic looked at her for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable, before pulling her down onto his lap. The glass went tumbling from her hand, and distantly Asha heard it shatter as it hit the floor, but it was hard to care when her uncle’s hands were on her and his pulse was beating hard against her lips, like waves crashing against her. He pulled her face up to his after a moment, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her in place. “Come stay on Pyke,” he said quietly. “He’s gone for another month at least.”  
  
He was talking about  his brother, she knew; Euron was never far from Vic’s mind. “Qarl’ll be pissed,” she said with a slow grin, waiting.  
  
“Like I give a shit about Qarl,” Vic growled, his arm tightening around her waist. 

  
Asha pressed closer, the breath catching in her throat; she loved him like this, fierce and possessive. “What about Theon, then? I need to be here, looking...” She brought a hand to his cheek, her thumb tracing his sharp cheekbone. “Not all brothers are the same, y’know.”  
  
“I’ll bring you in. Every morning,” he pressed his lips to hers between every word, each kiss deeper than the last, but never enough to satisfy her. “What if it  _is_ something to do with the family? Pyke is safe.”  _While Euron is gone_ , she thought, but she knew better than to say it. “Pyke is your home, Asha... _our_ home.”  
  
“I can bring myself in,” she said, toying with a button on his rumpled shirt. It slipped from its hole and she slid her finger down to the next one, grazing his chest with a nail. “Are you going to help me find my brother, Victarion?”  
  
He stilled her hand, stiffening slightly. “I’m going nowhere near Robb Stark. Otherwise, I’m all yours.”   
  
The way he shifted beneath her let Asha know exactly what he meant, and she slipped her hand from his, deftly undoing another button. “Then take me home, uncle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, I did write a...sequel to this chapter (i.e. Asha/Vic AU smut). I haven't posted it because it doesn't really belong in the narrative, but if people wanted it, I could post it as "related work" or whatever they call it. Maybe leave a comment or kudos, or even send me a message, if can you do that on AO3...idek.


	8. Pen Pals

The drive to Riverrun was painfully awkward and deathly silent. Mya’s stomach was roiling, either from stress, flat-out fear, or the tumbler of whiskey Asha had given her. It was a lot more potent than the nips of ‘shine she’d gotten from Theon from time to time, but the taste was far worse. She kept glancing over at Aeron, wondering if she should say something, but as they cruised into the hills outside the city she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t trust herself to speak, not after what had happened at Asha's club.  _You can't let that happen again. Whatever you feel, whatever happens, keep a handle on yourself._   
  
Before too long he eased his old Durant in front of the gate at Riverrun and glanced over at her. “My niece, my brother or I will be in touch, Miss Stone. And I would advise you to not return to Asha’s club unless she’s aware you’re coming. Is that clear?”   
  
Mya nodded, fumbling for the door handle. “Perfectly. Thank you for the ride.” Aeron nodded once, and she scrambled out of the car and started up the long, curved driveway. She stumbled once on the stairs and, glancing over her shoulder, felt her cheeks burn as she saw Aeron hadn’t pulled away yet. Straightening her shoulders, she raised her hand to knock on the door when it was yanked open and she was pulled into a smothering, perfumed embrace.   
  
“Mya! Robb told me everything!” Roslin’s hug was tight enough that Mya wondered if she wasn’t about to snap her spine. Nevertheless, she let the girl hug her. It was comforting, and familiar, and she knew it was what she needed. “You poor thing, what  _happened_ ? Did you really go to a speakeasy? By yourself?” Her brown eyes were wide as she shut the door and flipped the lock. “C’mon, Robb’s in the kitchen. I’m trying to get him to eat something but you know how he and Theon are.” Looping her arm through Mya’s, she dragged the taller girl through the foyer and into the surgically clean kitchen. Robb sat at an island in the middle of it with an untouched sandwich in front of him, propping his forehead in a hand. He looked up as Mya entered and she was struck by how aged he looked suddenly. “Robb, c’mon.” Roslin crossed the tile floors, her heels clacking loudly, and wrapped her arms around her fiance. “Eat, just a little, please?”   
  
Robb pecked her on the cheek and stood. “Later, sweetheart. I promise.” He hugged Mya briefly and nodded at one of the chairs opposite him. When she sat, he went on. “Theon’s sister called not twenty minutes ago. She and I are meeting with my great-uncle Brynden tomorrow morning to see what’s what. What’d she tell you?”   
  
Mya shrugged, her head suddenly pounding with whiskey and weariness. “Just that they don’t have him. Oh, and this.” She placed Theon’s badge on the counter and slid it across to Robb. “It came in the mail, I guess, to Pyke. His uncle brought it in.” The blood drained from Robb’s face, and Roslin covered her mouth with a hand. When he went to tuck it in his own pocket Mya shook her head. “No, Robb, please. Give it here.”   
  
“This is evidence, Mya. After I meet with Asha and Brynden tomorrow I’m going to have to go to Barristan Selmy and I have to be up front with him. And that includes turning over any evidence.”    
He picked up the badge and touched the silver metal, his jaw tightening.    
  
_Selmy._ “Robb, you can’t tell him you’re meeting with Asha.”    
  
Robb arched an eyebrow. “Oh, can’t I?”   
  
“No!” Mya stood, planting her hands on the countertop. “I...I promised her you wouldn’t arrest her.”   
  
“And why would you do that?”   
  
“Because I thought that you would care more about finding Theon than you would about collaring someone who, in all honesty, would probably be out in a matter of hours anyway!”   
  
“Do you have  _any_ idea of what kind of position you’re putting me in?”   
  
“I don’t care! And what does it matter? All three of us want the same thing in the end, so really, Robb, what does it matter?”   
  
Robb stood as well, and for a long moment the two of them glared at each other across the table while Roslin’s eyes flicked back and forth nervously. Finally Robb sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Jesus H. ...fine. As long as she toes the line I won’t bring her in but I swear to God, Mya, the  _second_ she so much as looks at me wrong I’m throwing her ass in the pen. Is that clear?” Mya nodded, some of the nervousness gripping her easing as Robb went on. “And this is a one-time deal. Next time I see her after this that’s it. She’s done.” And if I catch any heat from this from Selmy or anyone else it’s coming down on you and you alone. Do you understand?”   
  
Mya nodded again, clearing her throat before speaking. “Understood.”   
  
“Good.” Robb sighed, and tossed the badge back to Mya. “You may as well keep that after all - if it gets entered into evidence he’s going to have one hell of a time getting it back, and you know how he is about replacements.” In the hallway a grandfather clock chimed the hour, each heavy bong seeming to age Robb more and more. “I’d forgotten it was so late...c’mon, I’ll take you girls home.”   
  
“No.” It was Roslin that spoke, surprising both Robb and Mya. “We’re staying here tonight, right Mya?”   
  
“I...” Mya hadn’t even considered it. Any nights she’d spent here had been down in Theon’s guest house and she knew if she even so much as looked at the small, familiar home it would undo her. It didn’t much matter though, as Roslin was carrying on in her usual tradition of never waiting for an answer.   
  
“We absolutely are. C’mon, Mya, you can stay in Sansa’s room. She’ll never know and even if she did I doubt she’d care, unless you drool on her pillow or something.”   
  
Mya ignored her, picking up Theon’s badge and wrapping her fingers around the sticky leather. “Robb, when you go to meet Brynden I’m coming with you.”   
  
Robb opened his mouth to protest but just sighed instead. “If I say no you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you.” Mya just raised her eyebrows slightly in response, and he shrugged. “What the fuck ever. Be ready to go by 6:30.”   


\----------------

  
The next morning the sun hadn’t quite risen over Kingsport when Mya and Robb arrived outside of Brynden Tully’s office. They’d dropped Roslin off at the dorm with a promise that Mya would keep her informed. It was sweet, in a way. As much as she and Theon bickered, Mya knew on some level Roslin cared about him enough to not want any harm to come to him.  
  
Robb leaned against the cool brick exterior, glancing this way and that at approaching cars to see if any of them were Brynden or Asha but so far, no dice. He didn’t look much better than he had the night before, Mya noticed. His clothes were lacking the usual polish they had, and he had a few day’s worth of stubble on his chin. He glanced at her, and when their eyes met she felt something pass between them. _He’s just as scared as I am. Theon’s closer to him than his own brothers_. When he spoke it was quiet. “Listen, Mya, about last night...”  
  
She held up a hand before he could continue. “Don’t. We’re both wound up and tired and we both snapped last night, but it’s ok. Alright?” Robb nodded once, fishing through his pockets for a crumpled, half-empty pack of cigarettes. They were Red Apples, not Luckies, but when he offered her one she took it anyway and he lit it easily while she leaned against the wall next to him. “I’m scared, Robb.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until he reached over and rubbed her shoulder.  
  
“I know you are. But Theon’s a tough son of a bitch. Whoever has him will probably thank us for taking him off their hands in the end.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded forced and tinny to Mya and after half a second he grew somber again. “We’ll find him, I promise.”  
  
 _And if we don’t_? Mya inhaled deeply, feeling the nicotine soar through her lungs and tried to drive the thought from her mind. “We will,” she echoed.   
  
Robb tapped some ash off his cigarette, smiling a bit wryly. “Y’know, I never would’ve put the two of you together. Not after everything Roslin told me about you. But, I’ll admit, you’re good for him.”  
  
Mya smiled slightly and shrugged. “I wouldn’t have put the two of us together either, but...” she shrugged again. “We fit.”  
  
Before Robb could respond a dilapidated old Ford sputtered around the corner. Robb straightened and chucked his cigarette butt aside, grinding it out with his heel. “That’ll be Uncle Brynden.” As if on command, a smaller, sportier breezer pulled around the opposite corner, and Robb’s eyes hardened. “And Asha.”  
  
Asha reached them first, her sharp flinty eyes picking out a livid suck mark on Robb’s neck Mya hadn’t noticed before, and she grinned. “All this rule-breaking got you in the mood, did it?” She reached out and tweaked his collar, only to laugh when Robb seized her wrist hard.   
  
“Do not test me, Asha. I mean it.” His voice was low, nearly a growl, and Mya wondered briefly if this wasn’t a bad idea.  
  
A third voice sounded in the morning, amused if not slightly confused. “A copper, a student, and a bootlegger walk into a bar...” The three of them turned, and Robb let Asha’s wrist go as Brynden Tully approached looking only slightly less rumpled than Robb. “What on Earth brings you three here?”  
  
Robb shot another glare at Asha before turning his gaze back to Brynden. “Something’s come up - can we come up to your office?”  
  
Brynden looked at each of them in turn, his eyes keen and piercing. The smile that played around his lips faded and he nodded. “C’mon up.”  
  
There were only two chairs in his office other than his, so Robb stood while Mya perched primly in one chair, and Asha slung herself in the second. Brynden sipped his coffee and glanced at them again. “Well, someone start.”  
  
Mya did, haltingly, summarizing everything from that last disastrous night she’d seen Theon to Selmy’s call to her venture out to Asha’s club. As she finished, she slid Theon’s badge across Brynden’s desk. “This came yesterday in the mail, and...here we are.” She finished lamely. Her lips felt dry and she licked them as Brynden flicked the wallet open.  
  
“Do you still have the envelope this came in?” He asked Asha. She sat up, her brows furrowed as she thought.  
  
“Let me use your phone.” Without waiting for a response she picked up the receiver, rattling off an exchange and drumming her fingers on the desk. “It’s me. The mail yesterday, what’d you do with it?....good. Good, no, that’s good. Don’t throw any of it away, not even the envelopes, you hear me? I’ll be by in a little bit and if anything else comes in like that do not touch it. Leave it for me.” She hung up and returned to her seat, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling a foot impatiently.   
  
“Smart girl.” Brynden nodded approvingly. “You can tell a lot by something even that small. Now,” he turned to Robb. “What’re the fuzz doing on this? I can’t imagine this is going over well with Barristan Selmy.”  
  
Robb shifted his weight. “Selmy doesn’t know yet. I’m going in after we’re done here to fill him in.” He coughed a little, and when Mya glanced back at him the years had fallen away. Instead of an old man, he looked like a little boy again. “Can you help us, Uncle Brynden?”  
  
“Of course I can.” Brynden replied without hesitation, leaning back and tenting his fingers. He again looked at them all in turn. “I’m going to need you all to cooperate though, and do exactly what I tell you to or, Robb, what Selmy tells you to. You answer to him before you answer to me, do you understand?” They all chorused “Yes” like well-trained children, and he smiled. “Good.”  
  
\----------------  
  


 _October 15, 1924_

  
_To the editor:  
  
I have to say, I’m disappointed in you. These past few months I’ve been doing my best to give you folks a show up there in your pretty glass palaces, and you’ve hardly given me the same amount of time you’d give a snowstorm in the North. All those pretty girls made prettier, and have you even printed their names? For shame. Do you even know their names?_  
  
 _They’re getting dull, though, these little girls lost, especially considering you’re all but ignoring these magnificent headlines I’m nearly writing for you. I almost wonder if that’s it - if you don’t care about my work because you don’t care about the whores. If that’s so, I dare say you’ll start caring awfully quickly. I’ve recently made the acquaintance of one this city’s finest. We’ve been spending a good deal of time together, although I worry he’s losing interest in my company.  
  
So I’ll give you a choice. You can start reporting on these gifts I’m giving you, really reporting, or I’ll have no choice but to keep on plucking up your little readers and giving them back to you, piece by piece. That reminds me, did you get my parcel the other day? I do hope I gave you the right one - there were several to deliver and I hate to think I got confused._  
  
 _I’ll keep an eye on your paper. Try to think of some clever little nickname for me, if you could. Make it snazzy, something that’ll really grab the public’s attention if that task isn’t too much for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a task of my own to take care of. These knives, you know. They require so much maintenance lately but they’re still as sharp as ever.  
_  
He waited till his ink had dried before carefully folding the thick vellum and sliding it into a plain envelope. It wasn’t his best work, to be sure, but hopefully it got the point across. He stood and stretched, crossing the room to where his work in progress was slumped against the wall, unhooking an arm from the winch and holding it out. He smiled at the angry red gash that ran from wrist to elbow, and slid a finger into it, forcing the skin apart. His project hissed, teeth clenched, but to its credit it didn’t cry out. It hadn’t yet, no matter what had been done to it. It was almost disappointing...but that was neither here nor there. And besides, one man’s disappointment was another’s motivation. He poked and prodded the open wound a bit until he found...there. He slid the nib of his pen into thin artery and smiled as the pen’s reservoir filled up with his ink. “Much obliged.”  
  
He dropped its arm, hearing it grunt as the limb dangled limply, and returned to his little table to address the envelope. The blood didn’t write as well as _real_ ink, but he thought if anything, it’d make people remember him. He hadn’t been sure his project would be able to supply him with enough to write the entire letter, but he’d been pleasantly surprised. _I should’ve started with healthy ones, not the half-dead rundown gutter rats. This one’s got some time left in it still._  
  
Sealing the envelope he again stood in front of his project, tapping the corner of the envelope against his full lips. “It’s a beautiful morning out there, you know, and if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few errands to run, a few deliveries to make. You understand, I’m sure. Now, I’m trusting you’ll still be here when I return, yes?” He grasped its loose arm, still oozing a long trail of blood and yanked it upward, fiddling a bit with the chains and winch until he was sure it was secure. “You’re really in no condition to be out on your own anyway, isn’t that right?”  
  
It raised its head a bit weakly, and he noted how pale it seemed. There was such anger, such loathing in those pretty grey eyes, though. He debated sending them to the newspaper next, or maybe to its family. He’d have to wait and see, though. _Maybe one to each?_ Now there was an idea...  
  
“You’re going to fucking burn, Bolton. When they get a hold of you, they’ll invent a whole new death sentence just for you, you sick son of a bitch.”  
  
He inhaled. It reeked of blood, this one did, and here he’d just gotten started. “Your tongue will be next, I think. Who do you think would like to receive that? Your uncles? Your little girlfriend? Oh!” The idea came to him suddenly. “Your mother! When’s the last time you went to see her?” It spit full in his face then, and his first instinct was to plant his fist in its gut, but he restrained himself. Taking a step back, he located a cut running across its waist, shallow but tender, and trailed the corner of the envelope through it, just light enough to sting. “You just sit pretty. I’ll be back soon and if you’re lucky, I’ll bring you another friend.”  
  
Without waiting for it to respond he turned and left, making sure to lock the thick steel door behind him. Tucking the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket, he stopped by the long metal table in this anteroom. This project ...he hesitated to call it a success, but it had been far from a failure. Nevertheless, he didn’t have any use for it anymore, not when it was cold and stiff like it was. He wrapped it in a tarp with some difficulty, tucking the last of its dishwater blond hair inside and tying the whole bundle with some rope. From there it was a quick toss in the back of his truck, and he puttered off into the clear autumn morning.  
  
  
\---------------------  
Try as she might, that afternoon Mya could not lose herself in her work at the _Lantern_. Having Brynden Tully working with them, as well as Robb and Asha’s tentative truce, brought some relief, but it was only a drop in the bucket. She pressed the heel of her hand against her burning eyes, wondering if tonight maybe she’d be able to sleep. _I doubt it..._  
  
The door to the newsroom swung open and Mya’s heart plummeted. Robb Stark was striding towards Renly Baratheon’s office and with him was... _Oh God, what’s_ he _doing here?_ Barristan Selmy was with Robb. Both their faces were grim and dark, and Robb’s shoulders were hunched. Mya half-rose out of her chair, biting back the urge to call out to Robb. He glanced over without slowing and she caught a slight movement of his lips. “Later,” he mouthed. She nodded once and sat back down, again fingering the badge in her pocket, but getting back to work proved impossible. Her gaze kept getting drawn to the door to Renly’s office, and after a few minutes Margaery and Loras hurried by, the former looking pale and the latter with his lips pressed in a thin line. They vanished into the office as well, and it was nearly an hour, 60 excruciating minutes before they emerged. Magarey’s eyes were red now, and Mya thought her lower lip was quivering. After another few minutes Robb and Selmy exited, with the white-haired interim police Chief tucking a manilla envelope into the inner pocket of his trench coat. Robb said something to him, and he nodded.  
  
“What is it?” She asked quietly when he knelt next to her desk. “What’s happened?”  
  
“There’s been a...development, we think.” Robb kept his voice low, glancing around to make sure they weren’t overheard. “When are you done here?”  
  
“Another hour or so but I can probably get out early if I need to.”  
  
Robb shook his head. “No, no, just stay here. I’ll pick you up at quarter after 5 and we’ll go back to Uncle Brynden’s. I’ll have Asha meet us there too.”  
  
“Robb...” Mya touched his wrist with a frigid hand, and she saw him flinch. “What did you find? Please, you have to tell me.”  
  
“A body turned up under the viaduct just south of the city, another flaying.” Robb held up a hand at Mya’s soft gasp. “It wasn’t him. It was another who- another girl, and when I got back to the stationhouse Selmy said the newspaper had gotten a suspicious letter, and also a package yesterday.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know anything about that?”  
  
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “The eyelids!” A passing mail-clerk gave her an odd look and Robb winced. She lowered her voice. “I didn’t even think about those earlier.” Her insides suddenly felt hot and twisting, like snakes in her belly. “Oh my God, Robb, is it the same person? Is that who has him?” Mya could hear the panic rising in her voice again and she shut her mouth with an audible snap.  
  
Robb sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I really shouldn’t...we’ll talk about it tonight, alright?” He covered Mya’s hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. His grip was thicker than Theon’s, but no less strong, slightly calloused and warm. “He’s still alive, Mya. We’re pretty sure of that, alright? It’s something to go on.”  
  
Mya nodded, not trusting herself to speak straight away. _If Robb says he’s alive, then he’s alive_. _He_ has _to be_. “Quarter after five, then?”  
  
Robb stood and adjusted his trenchcoat, offering her a quick, tired smile. “Quarter after five. We’ll have to keep it quick, though. Roslin’s got it in her head to look at reception halls tonight too.”  
  
Mya couldn’t help but smile at that. The world could be coming down around them, and it seemed like it was, and Roslin would still truck on planning her wedding. “Good luck with that.”  
  
Later that evening the the cop, the student, and the bootlegger again came to Brynden Tully’s office, crowding around his desk when Robb produced a single piece of creamy, thick vellum covered in a slanting, hard-to-read brown scrawl encased in a Durable folder, the same type Mya had handed in many an essay in. “This came into the _Lantern_ today, hand-delivered. The receptionist didn’t remember who gave it to her, and didn’t recall seeing anyone other than the usual message boys.”  
  
Brynden turned the letter towards him and read it. Mya watched his face, saw how his brows knitted minutely. “One of the city’s finest,” he read, glancing from Robb to Asha. “So you think that means Theon.”  
  
Robb nodded. “We doubt he’s referring to any of the girls he’s taken.” Asha snatched the letter from Brynden and Robb winced. “Careful with that, Asha, it’s not supposed to leave the stationhouse.”  
  
She shot him a withering look and started reading it. Mya stood behind her, having to stand on her tiptoes to see over her shoulder and feeling queasy as she read the last lines. _They’re still as sharp as ever..._ the line struck a chord in her for some reason but she couldn’t place it. She tucked it away in her memory for later, and tilted her head, a lock of hair slipping out from behind her ear and brushing Asha’s shoulder. The taller girl cast her an annoyed look, and she took a step back. “Stark, what’s wrong with the ink? It doesn’t look right.”  
  
Robb’s mouth tightened and Mya got the distinct impression he’d hoped he wouldn’t be asked that question. He sighed, running his hand through his hair in a well-practiced move. “We’re not done running tests on that yet but...” He glanced at the floor, and Mya saw him swallow hard. “Selmy thinks it’s blood.”  
  
“ _Blood?_ ” Asha’s body gave the same jolt Mya felt. “Human blood?”  
  
Robb shook his head. “Like I said, we don’t know yet which is why,” and here he snatched the folder out of Asha’s hands, “I need to get that back to the stationhouse before anyone notices it’s gone.”  
  
The phone on Brynden’s desk jangled suddenly, and he snatched it up as if he’d been expecting it. “Yeah,” he snapped. “You’re sure it’s the one we’re looking for?” Digging through a stack of papers on his desk, he drew out a scrap with a number scrawled on it, sounding suddenly grim. “Read me the tags...yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Hang on to it, we’re almost done here.” He replaced the receiver and leaned back in his chair, running a hand along his white-stubbled jaw.  
  
“Uncle Brynden?” Robb prompted.  
  
“Yeah, that was a buddy of mine. Listen, Robb, sit. All of you, sit.” When they had, he went on. “That Rolls you and the Greyjoy kid are always rolling around in...buddy of mine found it today.”  
  
“What? Where?” Robb was sitting ramrod straight, leaning forward slightly.  
  
“Down in Flea Bottom.”   
  
_Flea Bottom_? Mya had only ever heard of the area - rife with crumbling housing projects, it was one of the poorest, if not _the_ poorest section of the city. Theon had mentioned once that half the hookers the KPD arrested came from that area. “What was he doing there?” She heard the tremble in her voice, felt Asha’s glance, and cleared her throat.   
  
“I’m afraid he may’ve been down there on my advice. This case, the flaying one...he came and talked with me about it the other day. I told him what I knew, what kind of girls these were. He must’ve gone down there by himself to see what he could find. Anyway, it was in an alley between an abandoned building and some tenant housing. Not a scratch on it.”   
  
Mya’s stomach clenched, and she saw Robb’s eyes close for a moment. Asha remained stony-faced. “God, that idiot...” Robb said more to himself. “How many times did Selmy tell us not to go out on our own?”  
  
“You know Theon” Asha spat. “The more you tell him to do one thing the more likely he is to do the opposite, the Goddamn moron.”  
  
Mya remained quiet, turning the facts over in her head. Robb thought Theon was still alive. This letter suggested the same, even though it was written in blood. His car was left alone, undamaged, unmolested. And then there was that line pinging the back of her mind, flickering like a far-away lighthouse. They’re still as sharp as ever...where’ve I heard that before? The knowledge stacked like a house of cards in her mind, half-built and tremulous at best. Brynden spoke again, scattering the cards.  
  
“Robb, you listen to me - do not follow his trail, not yet, and not by yourself. Do you understand?” The hesitation before Robb nodded stiffly spoke volumes. “Good boy.”  
  
Asha glanced at her watch and stood suddenly. “I’ve got to get back to...work,” she glanced down at Robb uneasily for a moment, “but I’ll tell my boys to keep an eye out and an ear to the ground. Some of them frequent Flea Bottom, could be they’ve heard something.”  
  
“No.” Robb glared at her. “Absolutely not. We’re already overworked and understaffed, and I refuse to allow you to let even more of your  hooligans run around my city.”  
  
Asha bristled. “It’s not _your_ city, Stark. You’re not your father, and last time I checked it’s Barristan Selmy in the big office.”  
  
“The point still stands-”  
  
“Hey!” Brynden slammed a meaty fist down on his desk, causing all three of them to jump. “Do you remember what we agreed on this morning? You lot are going to play nice, d’you understand? We’re done here. Robb, take that letter back to the station, and take Mya here home. Asha, _if_ you unleash your horde on Flea Bottom, tell them to behave and to stay within the law. Mya, go get some sleep. You look like shit. Now go on, get out of my office.” He waved a hand towards the door. “Shoo.” 


	9. Broken

Theon was so damn cold. And hungry. He knew he had worse problems than the cold or the hunger, but focusing on those helped him not to think about the pain. Mostly. Sometimes, just after Bolton left him, the pain was so overwhelming he forgot his own damn name. But for now, the cold and the hunger were serving just fine. He could hear his chains rattling against the wall, and he realized he was shaking, probably from some combination of the two.  
  
On occasion, Ramsay would chain him to the floor instead of up against the wall. Theon had no clue why, but he was absurdly grateful every time. When he was chained to the floor, his shoulders didn’t ache so much, although they never stopped aching anymore, not really. But when he was on the floor, the odds were better he might get to eat. His captor had given him food sporadically...well, once it had been food, a bowl of thin oatmeal. The other times...Theon would’ve retched, if he’d had anything in his stomach; the meat Bolton’d brought him on two other occasions had been seared to perfection, the smell of it had made his mouth water for _hours_ , even after Ramsay had eaten it himself, but he’d heard the screams, and he knew what the Bolton profession was.   
_  
But would you eat it now? I bet you would..._ His stomach twisted painfully, growling at the thought. The sound, absurdly loud in the large, echoing space of the abandoned meatpacking plant, startled him and he swung back against the damp wall behind him, chains clattering. The sudden movement sent the cold and hunger fleeing before the all-consuming pain as more than one of his wounds began to bleed anew. He could feel the deep gash across his lower torso tearing open again, and the one above his kidneys as well. The various ragged slashes crisscrossing his chest and upper back ached, but didn’t seem to reopen. The wound on his arm had really never stopped bleeding, but with his arms above his head for so long, it had slowed to a mere trickle.  
  
Theon could hear his blood, _what’s left of it, anyway..._ , roaring in his ears, a thick, fuzzy sound, but he struggled against losing consciousness. He hated being out cold when Ramsay came, hated how _weak_ it made him look. He hung limply against the chains, but his mind was racing frantically, trying to find a memory to keep him from blacking out. He lit on one finally, that last good morning with Robb, fishing at the break of dawn.   
  
He could remember it so clearly...it seemed the more pain he was in, the sharper the memory. The way the damp grass had pricked at his bare feet, the indescribable smell of the river first thing in the morning...even the sweet rolls Robb had snuck out of the kitchen. That was enough to bring his hunger roaring back, and the pain receded a little. He remembered the way Robb had laughed about the bait, and he played that little scrap of memory over and over again, until the sound of laughter seemed to fill his ears.  
  
“Detective Greyjoy!” A sharp prick just below his left eye brought him out of his reverie, the gleaming blue-grey edge of a long knife filling his vision. “I’ve been calling your name since I came in the building...are you going deaf?”  
  
Theon didn’t deign to answer. He didn’t know if he even could...he hadn’t had water in what seemed like days, but was probably more like hours.  
  
Bolton sighed. “It would be a real shame if you were. I don’t know why you would be, I haven’t touched your head. Yet. And yet you’re so silent. You don’t even curse me when I cut you anymore,” he said as he slid the tip of the knife along Theon’s cheekbone, the tightly-drawn skin there splitting easily. Theon wondered how long he spent sharpening his knives, to get them so damnably sharp. “You’re taking _all_ the fun out of it, you know.”   
  
Ramsay turned away from him, going to his table of knives and other sharp instruments, and Theon let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He was determined not to make a sound, but the way Ramsay was humming as he touched the different tools before him did not bode well for Theon. After a moment, he made a happy little sound, and picked up a knife, turning it this way and that in his hands. Its curved edge caught the dim light, and Theon had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming.  
  
“You know,” Bolton said, ambling back over, “I’ve got another one of my projects out in the truck.” He patted his full lips with the flat of the knife, cold eyes roaming over Theon’s body. “I’ll cut you off a nice, juicy steak, I think. You’re looking awfully thin and pale...you need nourishment. What do you say, hmm?”  
  
Theon drew a shallow breath, licking his dry, cracked lips. “I say fuck you, Bolton, that’s what I say.” Bold words, but privately, he wondered if he’d be able to hold out the next time the other man brought him a steaming hunk of meat, no matter where it came from. “I can’t wait to watch you hang, you sick fuck.”  
  
A slow smile spread across Ramsay’s lips, although it never reached his eyes. “There we go, that’s much better, Detective Greyjoy. I do so enjoy our little chats.” He tapped the knife against his lips again, thoughtful. “Let me see...where to begin today? Any preference, Detective? You know, I think we’re well enough acquainted at this point...you don’t mind if I call you Theon, do you?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter what you call me, Bolton,” Theon said, trying to maintain his air of bravado even as Ramsay set the point of the knife on an untouched patch of skin along his ribcage. “Because when I get down fro-” He broke off mid-sentence, hissing under his breath when Ramsay dug the knife into his flesh.  
  
“You’re not getting down, Theon. Not unless I chain you to the floor like a dog again,” Bolton said, his tone considerably colder. Theon could tell he’d wanted more of a reaction, but he flatly refused to give it, even when Ramsay slid the knife in another half inch and, _oh Jesus fuck..._ , twisted it agonizingly slowly. “Or if I just kill you now...I suppose I’d have to get you down then. Do you want to die now, Theon?”  
  
“No, damn you.” Theon choked out, biting the inside of his cheek to a bloody pulp to keep from screaming.  
  
The smile Ramsay gave him in return was chilling. “Not yet, but you will.”  
  
\---------------------  
  
His project was staying awake for shorter and shorter amounts of time, he found, and that was disappointing. _They can’t stay forever, I know, but I was hoping for more than 5 days._ It would be awhile before he was able to come across another one like this, stubborn and headstrong. It was close, though. So close. He saw the desperation in those pretty grey eyes when he pulled out his blade, and saw how it salivated at the meals he’d offered it. _Soon. Another few hours and it’ll be begging for it like a dog._ It may’ve been already; sometimes, usually after hours after he’d given it a meager trickle of water, he could catch a few, incoherent words slipping out from between its lips. Names, sometimes. Once it may’ve muttered something about its mother, but he wasn’t sure.  The names, though... _useful, that._ He’d filed them away for later use.  
  
He took a step back, lips pursed, as its eyes rolled back in its head and it went limp, sagging against the damp brick wall. Pulling a dirty rag out of his back pocket, he wiped it along his blade, carrying it into the next room and running it under warm water until it gleamed. A beautiful fourteen inch curved cimeter, it was one of his most prized blades and had proven most effective today. The feeling of the metal sliding along a rib bone...he shivered. Pushing a blade that finely honed into a piece of flesh was like almost like the first time he’d taken a woman. _Not quite as good though...it’ll be screaming soon enough, and then..._  
  
Outside, a siren wailed and he paused, cocking his head toward the sound. It grew closer, and for a moment it sounded as though it was stopping outside his building. It began to fade, and he realized it must’ve slowed to turn a corner. He heard them a few times a day - not as much as he did at other locations, to be sure, but moreso lately. They never bothered him. The police were incompetent, no more of a danger to him than a mosquito.  
  
He slid his knife back into its leather holder and turned to his newest endeavor, lifting a lock of its rich, brown hair and letting it slip through his fingers. “You were very smart, you know, to not ruin it like so many of the others have with their bleaches and dyes.” It had brown eyes too, with little copper flecks in them. _Pretty_ , he thought, tapping a finger against his lips. They stared up at him, as wide and watery as the rest, and for a moment he longed for the bullish anger his other project was giving him.  
  
Before he could dwell on it any longer, the door to his workspace swung open with a quiet creak. He spun, heart in his throat for a split second before he relaxed. It was just his father, no one important. But judging by the cold fury in his pale eyes, something had happened. “Ramsay.” He always spoke so quietly, his father. He understood why - it forced people to listen, to really make an effort to hear what he was saying. Personally, he found it annoying. Nevertheless, he leaned against his table and crossed his thick arms.  
  
“Dad.” He said pleasantly.  
  
Roose Bolton crossed the room, his steps as quiet as his voice, and looked down at his son’s latest work. “Where’d you get this one?”  
  
He shrugged. “Same as the others. Flea Bottom.”  
  
His father placed a finger on its jaw, turning its soft, scared face towards him. “What’s your name?”  
  
He felt a twinge of irritation at the father. His father _knew_ he didn’t like to know their names. He _knew_ it, just like he knew this workspace was his. Roose could come and go as he pleased, to be sure, but here his son was in charge. He barely glanced down at the thing on his table when it responded in a high, trembling voice. “Y-Yara.”  
  
“Dad,” He said warningly, and his father offered him the faintest ghost of a smile, a mocking one at that.  
  
“So good to see you hard at work, my boy.” Roose clapped a hand on his shoulder, glancing at the half-closed steel door holding his true prize. “What’ve you got in there?” Something about his tone told him his father already knew exactly what hung in there and when he didn’t answer straight away, his father’s already-cold gaze grew downright bitter. Sure enough, he pulled a rolled-up newspaper from his back pocket and slapped it in his hand without a word. “You’ve made the front page.”  
  
He unfolded the newspaper with no small amount of excitement, and suddenly his project was staring back at him in a file photo from the police academy. The headline yelled something about him missing, but the rest of the article focused mainly on its career and family ties. Only at the very end was there a sentence of speculation about any connection with the missing whores and mention of his letter. He tossed the paper to the ground, disappointed. “Poorly written, you ask me.”  
  
“Do you have _any_ idea how stupid it was, bringing him here?”  
  
“I didn’t have a choice - I couldn’t just leave him. He was asking questions.”  
  
“Then you dispose of him, toss him in the river. You don’t bring him here, someplace with your name, _our_ name all over it, and play with him like some sort of puppet. And to write that letter! You may as well have signed it and stamped our return address all over it. You know I don’t care what you do with these...things,” he waved a hand towards the table. “But you’re risking the family’s name here, and I will not stand for it. Finish the cop. Today. Make sure he isn’t found, do you understand?”  
  
He clenched his jaw, feeling bitterness rise in the back of his throat. This was _his_ place, _his_ work. He’d do what he willed. “I’ll finish it in my own time.”  
  
He saw his father inhale before crossing the room and throwing the door open, gesturing to what was left of his work. The newest project on the table had seen too. He could tell by the way it started screaming around its gag, and he patted its soft thigh before crossing the room to stand by his father. “It won’t be much longer.”  
  
His father’s pale eyes moved over the limp form, and he shook his head. “Stick with the whores from now on. Will your stepmother and I see you for dinner tomorrow?”  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it.” he replied dully. His prize jerked and moaned again.  
  
His father nodded and left without another word, casting half a glance at the quivering wreck his current work was in. He strode back to it angrily, debating which blade to use on this one. He _had_ promised a steak...he prodded this one’s thigh again, ignoring its omnipresent screams. _Damn him_ , he thought, unfolding the leather satchel which held more of his blades. Drawing out a thin boning knife, he felt some of his anger dissipate.  
  
“Normally I’d take my time with my work,” he commented as he got to work, “but there’s something to be said about efficiency. I’m sure in your line of work, you’d agree.”  
  
It didn’t answer as he got started, just screamed and screamed and screamed. Towards the end he let himself smile. His prize would be awake shortly at this rate, and then the real fun would start.  
  
\---------------------  
  
Sometimes Theon dreamt when Ramsay finished with him and left him dripping blood on the floor of the slaughterhouse like another one of his cattle. He’d had a particularly horrible one once about Mya; in his dream, he’d found himself in her room and she was crying on the bed, curled up around that ridiculous octopus he’d won her. His voice had sounded like a death knell to him when he said her name, but she didn’t seem to hear him at all.   
  
The rest of the dream was an exercise in mundanity, overlaid with a sense of mounting dread. He trailed her, unseen, as she attended classes and went to work, seemingly without a care in the world. And yet...he would catch a glimpse of darkness in the furthest seat of her lecture hall, a shadow darting behind a corner as she walked home from the offices of the _Lantern_. He tried to yell, tried to grab her and shake some sense into her pretty, dumb head, but it was like he was a ghost already.  
  
That dream had been the worst, but he’d dreamt of another sort of ghost today. Or maybe it was tonight...he’d lost track of the days and time, for the most part. The ghost he’d dreamt of today was a man, a pale man with terrible cold eyes. The man hadn’t said a word, or even touched him, but his gaze had felt like spiders creeping over Theon’s skin, and the longer he stared, the worse it got. Eventually, the ghost went away, but shortly thereafter, Theon was dragged back into consciousness by shrill screams.  
  
 _He’s cutting you off that steak he promised,_ Theon thought dully. Somehow, the thought didn’t seem to horrify him as much as it should; the hunger gnawing at his belly was so all-consuming, he would’ve sworn there were rats in there ripping at his insides. He opened his eyes slowly, wondering if maybe there _were_ rats tearing at his belly, but he looked the same as he had for days: pale where you could still see skin, bloody and raw everywhere else, but no rats. _Yet. Just wait ‘til he chains you to the floor again. You’ll be too weak to move, and they’ll smell your blood..._ The nightmare that followed was the worst one yet.  
  
After what could’ve been five hours, or five minutes, a sharp jolt of pain brought Theon back to wakefulness. Ramsay was prodding at the new wound with his bare finger, pulling the skin apart and examining the wound.  
  
“You _really_ need to eat, Theon. I brought you a steak, just like I said I would.” Bolton didn’t wait for a reply, simply turning away and unlooping the rusty chain that held him up from its hook on the wall. Theon crumpled to the floor in a boneless heap, far too weak to hold himself up. Ramsay knelt and set a plate in front of him, the steak still hot and sizzling. “There you go, nice and juicy. Medium rare. A man who overcooks his steak is no man at all, wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
Theon’s mouth filled with saliva from the smell alone, but he reached out a hand and flipped the plate away before his body could betray him. “I’d rather starve, you bastard.”  
  
Before he could so much as flinch, Ramsay stood and brought a booted foot down on his left hand, grinding his heel after he made contact. For the first time since he was taken, Theon screamed. The force of it was too much for his little-used voice, however, and the scream soon trailed off into a series of choking sobs. Bolton stood over him as he curled around his crushed hand, face twisted into an unpleasant smile.  
  
“Oh, I doubt it’ll come to that, Theon. I doubt it very much indeed.” Ramsay was pulling at the chain viciously, and Theon was jerked back up to his previous position, hung against the wall like just another side of meat. “Blood loss will kill someone _far_ faster than starvation will, and I gave you that oatmeal not two days ago. No, you won’t starve.”  
  
Theon took a deep, painful breath, trying to regain control of himself, but when he saw jagged, serrated edge of the knife Ramsay selected from his table full of knives, he couldn’t help the low moan of horror that slipped past his lips.  
  
“You don’t like the looks of this one, eh?” Ramsay said, holding it up in front of Theon’s eyes. “I’ll admit, it’s not very elegant. But you’ll _feel_ it much, much more. You’ve had your fun defying me, now I want to have _my_ fun.” He drew the knife across one of Theon’s hips, the bones sticking out above the waistband of his filthy, loose-fitting pants, the awful _tearing_ sensation drawing another scream from Theon. “There we go, that’s more like it!”   
  
“You know,” Ramsay said casually, slicking a finger in the new wound, “I would’ve thought _someone_ would be looking for you by now. Oh, I suppose your co-workers are searching, but they’re all rather incompetent, now aren’t they? But honestly, I’m surprised that Robb hasn’t come back from his little vacation up North.”   
  
Theon strained against the chains, trying, in vain, to block out the sound of the other man’s voice. _Lies, he’s lying. Robb’s looking, he’s_ got _to be._  
  
“And your family...” Ramsay shook his head mournfully. “I’ve always heard such stories about the Greyjoys, what a close-knit family of criminals they are. Not so close-knit after all, hmm?” He placed the knife against Theon’s collarbone, but didn’t cut, not yet. “Of course, you’re a copper...they’re probably happy to be rid of you, aren’t they? They’re probably drinking toasts of that illegal ‘shine in my honor now. They must be, since I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them out looking for you.”  
  
That was less surprising to Theon, although what did surprise him was how painful it was to hear. He’d been operating under the assumption that even if Robb somehow _hadn’t_ heard of his disappearance, his sister and uncles would certainly miss him, even if only because of how much extra work it would create for them. He tried to tell himself, again, that Ramsay was lying, that _of course_ his family was looking for him, but he believed it even less than he had the first time.  
  
“And then there’s Mya, of course,” Ramsay made a quick slashing motion, ripping the skin just below Theon’s collarbone open. Theon couldn’t have said whether the choked cry he gave was in response to the physical pain or the idea that Ramsay knew about Mya, could get to her somehow. “I can’t tell if she’s noticed you’re gone or not, to be honest. She certainly seems to keep busy, though.” He smiled, a friendly, open smile that made Theon’s bowels loosen. “I think I’ll ask her sometime soon, and that way I can let you know what she says. How ‘bout that, hmm?” Sinking the edge of the knife in deeper, he started a slow sawing motion. “If you’re still around, that is.”  
  
The pain was exquisite, a high, silvery keening at the edge of his hearing, a red haze that coated everything he could see, and everywhere the coppery scent of blood. His nightmare was real, and Ramsay would find Mya, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was too much to fight anymore, and Theon sagged against his chains, praying to whoever was listening that it would just end.


	10. In Dreams

Mya rolled over, the sun bright in her eyes. She felt Theon’s arm wrap around her waist, pulling her close. She smiled, still half-dozing as he brushed her hair off her shoulder. “Morning,” she murmured.   
  
“Morning, lazy.” His lips grazed along her hairline and she felt him smile.  
  
Mya pried an eye open and smiled sleepily up at him. It was alright now...it must’ve just been some horrid dream, him going missing, his bloody badge hanging heavy in her pocket. _Just a nightmare..._ Theon was here, he was safe, whole in her arms. “I had the worst dream.”  
  
“Tell me about it, dove.” Theon was brushing his fingers lazily through her hair, knowing how much she liked it.  
  
“You were...gone. There was a serial killer, he was killing hookers and sending pieces of them all around, and he took you. I couldn’t find you, and I was so scared. We were looking and looking...” She tucked her head under his jaw, but something wasn’t _quite_ right. His skin was as warm as ever, but normally she could feel his pulse there...not this morning.   
  
Theon shifted, letting his fingers trip over her spine. “It’s alright now. I’m here.” Tipping her chin up, he nodded across the room. “Those the hookers you were talking about?”  
  
Confused, Mya glanced over and felt her gorge rise. Standing at the foot of the bed were at least half a dozen women, if not more, but... _no. No, this isn’t happening._ The women were corpses, hair matted and coarse, clothes in rags. Chunks of skin hung off them like ribbons except in places where it was gone completely. The flesh there was a sickly grey-white, mottled with streaks of red. One of them grinned, and Mya bit back a scream. That one... _her eyelids..._ the eyes staring blankly at her were vacant, all color leached out of the irises.  
  
Her heart in her throat, Mya scrambled back against the headboard, gripping Theon’s arm. “What- what’s going on?!” Her voice was high and shrill, and he laughed. She turned to gape at him and couldn’t hold back her scream this time.   
  
Theon’s throat was opened in a weeping red smile, blood pouring over his chest and pooling in the sheets in thick pulses. He rubbed his jaw absently, and a chunk of papery, grey skin came off with his fingers. He flicked it aside as if it were a fly and leaned back on his elbows, grinning at Mya. “Come give us a kiss, doll. It’s the least you can do, y’know.”  
  
Mya bolted out of bed and backed across the room, the small of her back banging into his dresser. “What’re you- Theon, what’s happening?”  
  
“This is all your fault, my sweet Mya.” He nodded again at the hookers and shifted in bed, his hand landing in the pool of blood underneath him. “Them, me, all the ones to come. You had the answer right in front of you and you didn’t see it.” Suddenly he was in front of her, trailing a cold, corpse-like finger along her jaw. “You didn’t _see_ it, and now I’m dead, dove. Dead and rotting and by the time you find me...do you know how sharp his knives were? How much he hurt us?” He chuckled and it was a horrible sound, wet and ragged and gasping. His fingers trailed over the pounding pulse in her throat and suddenly they snapped around her neck, cutting off her air. “You let me down, Mya. It was right. There. And you let every single one of us down...”  He leaned in close enough to kiss her, his peeling lips grazing her ear as he whispered “I _loved_ you,” and then there were more hands on her, scratching, grasping, tearing at her skin.   
  
Mya could still feel them when she bolted upright in bed, clawing at her throat and her mouth open in a silent scream. For a split second she could still see them too, their watery, grave-blinded eyes, the greying skin, the blood, oh _God_ , the blood coursing over Theon and she couldn’t breathe. Reaching over, she fumbled for the lamp on her desk. The warm light flooded the dorm and across the room, Roslin stirred. She pushed herself up, hair mussed in strange peaks and valleys and pillow-lines in her face. “Whassit...time to get up already?”  
  
“N-..no.” She had to force the word out. “No, go back to sleep, Rosie. I just need a drink of water.” _I need to call Robb._ The thought came to her unbidden but at the same time she knew. She _knew_ where she’d seen the line from the flayer’s letter before, and she needed Robb. It had been four days, or five, since they’d met with Brynden, but this nightmare had been the first. Roslin made a sleepy noise and rolled back over, stuffing her pillow over her head. Still feeling clammy fingers clenched on her skin, Mya slipped out of their room and padded quickly down to the phone.   
  
When Robb picked up he sounded wide-awake. “Stark residence, this is-”  
  
“Robb, it’s me. Mya.” She sank down against the wall, her legs unwilling to hold her up any longer. “I need you to come get me. We have to go down to the _Lantern_ -”  
  
“Wait, hold up. Mya, it’s one-thirty in the morning. What’s happened?”  
  
“I just...I need to..there’s something there that might help us. Just don’t ask any questions, not here. I’ll explain everything, I swear. Just please come and get me or else I’m walking.”  
  
“Alright, alright just...” Mya could practically hear him thinking. “Just hang on. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And Mya?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do not go outside, not even to wait. Stay indoors.”  
  
It seemed to take years for Robb to get there. Mya had snuck down the stairs, creeping as quietly as she could past Mrs. Darry’s room and had waited. Her nerves were singing like wires, and every time she so much as blinked she saw the bodies again. Every time she took a breath she could smell the rot rolling off them and it made her stomach heave. Theon’s rattling whisper echoed in her ears. _I_ loved _you...I_ loved _you..._  
  
Finally, a Cadillac rolled around the corner and Mya saw Robb’s face gazing out the window. She shut the dormitory’s door quietly and ran down the sidewalk as fast as her heels would allow her, sliding into the passenger’s side. “Go.”  
  
Robb didn’t need to be told twice and pulled a quick U-turn, aiming the Caddy for one of the main thoroughfares through campus. “Tell me what happened, Mya.”  
  
Mya turned in the seat to face him and very nearly spilled everything about the nightmare but something about the shadows around his eyes made her stop. He didn’t need to know about that. At least one of them should be able to sleep. “I just... I had a dream and remembered something about the letter and I figured I couldn’t just stroll into the offices in the middle of the night. I didn’t mean to wake you, but I can’t wait, Robb.”  
  
Robb shook his head. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway. What’d you remember?”  
  
“One of the phrases. I saw it somewhere in one of the articles and I swear there was a name attached to it.”  
  
Robb nodded, and the rest of the ride through the sleeping city was quiet. He parked the Caddy in front of Tyrell Plaza and flashed his badge authoritatively at the night guard dozing at the main desk. The pudgy man had given Mya a suspicious look, but hadn’t said anything.  
  
“Come on.” Mya grabbed Robb’s sleeve and tugged him through the newsroom door. The room was empty, dark, surprisingly cavernous at two o’clock in the morning. She shivered as she ran her finger along a row of ledgers running along one wall until she found the one she was looking for. “Here.” She pulled it off and dropped it on a desk, flipping through the pages. “They’ve had me working on archiving old articles and I swear...” _It’s here, it has to be here somewhere. I know it is, I_ know _it is._ Her thoughts ran frantically together, Theon’s name chiming with every rapid beat of her heart until... _there._ She pointed, and Robb leaned over her shoulder as he read.  
  
“Ramsay Bolton...son of a bitch.”  
  
Mya looked up, surprised at the vehemence in his tone. “Do you know him?”  
  
“Not really, no.” Robb straightened and backed away, perching on the desk behind him, fingers loosely linked. “His name’s come up...well, his father’s name anyway. Anyway, that whole mess really knocked the Boltons down but Roose was able to turn it around. He had to shut down a whole mess of his factories though.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m getting off topic. We need to take this, and get it to Selmy and Brynden.”  
  
“How many factories does he have?” Mya’s hand was in her pocket, again stroking the badge. _I_ loved _you..._  
  
“God, I don’t even know. Twenty, maybe? He opened a bunch of shops too, that get supplied directly from the factories. Damn, Mya, he could be _anywhere_. And that’s assuming we’re barking up the right tree here.”  
  
“We are, Robb, I know it.” Mya shut the binder, hugging it to her chest.   
  
The newsroom door banged open suddenly, and they both jumped. Renly Baratheon was striding in, followed shortly by Loras Tyrell and his sister. He looked angry and half-dressed, still tucking his shirt in. “What in the _Hell_ is going on here?”  
  
Robb stood, reaching for his badge again. “Police business-”  
  
“Police business that couldn’t wait until a respectable hour?” Loras broke in from over Renly’s shoulder.   
  
“No,” Mya responded before Robb could. “This is important, it could mean _lives_ , Mr. Tyrell.”  
  
“It’s going to mean your job, Mary.”  
  
“Mya.”  
  
“I don’t care. Detective Stark, your C.O. _will_ be hearing about this.”  
  
“I have no doubt.” Robb said evenly.  
  
Renly cast a warning look at Loras who shut his mouth petulantly before turning back to Robb. “Of course, we’ll continue to be of any assistance we can. Detective. We...that is, my wife and I, would have just preferred a phone call from you during the day as opposed to one in the middle of the night from our security guard.”  
  
“That’s my fault.” Mya spoke up, twisting the edge of her jacket in her hands. “I...I called Robb and made him bring me here.”  
  
“Mya,” Margaery’s look was hard to read. “Frankly, this isn’t the kind of behavior I expected out of you-”  
  
“I know.” Mya interrupted, “and I’ll explain everything. Just...later, please. Please, Ms. Tyrell. I’ll tell you whatever you want after this is over.”  
  
Margaery looked at her appraisingly now, but Mya could tell she was irritated. “I don’t recall assigning you to cover this case, Miss Stone.”  
  
“You didn’t. I-...” Mya looked helplessly at Robb, unsure how to continue. The thought of explaining this to yet another person seemed like an impossible task right now, and one that would take too much time. _We need to go, now! He could be dying right now while we’re discussing my work assignments!  
_  
“Miss Stone is assisting me.” Robb tucked his hands in his pockets. “On a personal level. And she’s right, this is a life-or-death matter.”  
  
Margaery and Renly seemed to have a conversation with their eyes, a feat Mya had seen several times but had never mastered, and Renly nodded, resigned. “What do you need?”  
  
“This binder.” Mya replied, glancing at Robb. “That’s all for now...I think.”  
  
He nodded tersely, already looking ready to leave. “We’ll also need you to keep quiet about this for now. And also to use a phone.”  
  
Renly nodded, and Robb rattled off an exchange to the operator. “Uncle Bryn- yeah. I’m sorry, I know it’s late-” Mya made a ‘Hurry it up’ gesture with his hands and he nodded, holding up a finger. “Listen, meet us at your office as soon as you can. And call her.” He hung up and looked at Mya. “Alright, let’s beat it.”  
  
With a tense farewell to Mya’s three bosses, they practically ran to the Caddy, Mya clutching the binder as if her life depended on it. Robb peeled out of his parking spot, lurching the car down the street. Mya clung to the side of the door, feeling her stomach lift and slam back down as the tires found the curb. “Jeepers, Robb, you _are_ a bad driver.”  
  
Robb shot her a tight grin. “I don’t do it often. Theon would kill me-” He swallowed hard. “He’s a more careful driver than I am, to be sure.”  
  
By the time they reached Brynden’s office the light on the second floor lit up the window and Asha’s car was parked haphazardly out front. Mya wondered how she’d gotten there so quickly, and then realized she must’ve been at the club.  
  
“Alright, what’ve you got?” Brynden barked as soon as they opened the door. Asha was pacing near the window, the tip of her cigarette glowing orange. She nodded shortly at Robb and Mya, but said nothing.   
  
Robb took the binder out of Mya’s grasp and flipped through until he found the article quoting Bolton. He jabbed a finger victoriously at it. “Sound familiar?”  
  
Brynden and Asha glanced at each other. “It’s something to go on, and God knows my men haven’t seen shit.” Asha said. “What do we do now? We can’t just stroll into Bolton’s house and tell him to make with my baby brother, can we.”  
  
“Of course not. And anyway, I can’t imagine this is happening in someone’s home. No, Ramsay needs someplace private.” Robb turned to Brynden. “We need a list of all of Bolton’s property holdings. Warehouses, packing plants, delis, butchers, I don’t care. Anything. Everything.”  
  
“We’re gonna have to get into City Hall, they’ll have records.”  
  
“Tully, it’s two-thirty in the morning.” Asha pointed out. “And I’m not really one who can just march into someplace like that.”  
  
Brynden winked at her and fished through a drawer before holding up a keyring. “One of the secretaries down there is a...friend of mine. She slipped me a handy-dandy little set of keys that should get us where we need to go.” He jangled them and started for the door. “Let’s go, kids. Time’s a’wastin’.”  
  
Mya stared a bit before Asha hustled her out. “That’s awfully useful.”  
  
Asha shrugged. “Gift horse. Mouth. A break’s a break.”  
  
\----------------  
  
Mya’s eyes were burning with fatigue, and she could’ve sworn she saw the sun starting to brighten the streets through the small basement windows of Kingsport’s City Hall but after hours amidst the dusty, slightly mildewy records down there, the four of them had a list of addresses and after still another hour, they’d carefully mapped them  on a map of the city. The result was disheartening - nearly thirty different properties stretching from one side of the city to the other and beyond.  
  
“Jesus,” Asha brushed a hand across her forehead. “I haven’t done homework like this since I was in the 4th fucking grade.”  
  
Brynden chuckled and stood in front of the map of the city, peppered with push-pins marking the various locations. “Alright, it’s safe to assume that if he _is_ using one of his plants, he wouldn’t take them to an active running one.”  
  
“No,” Robb agreed. “He needs privacy, and space. So that’d eliminate this one, this one, and those two.” He gestured to the map, and Asha plucked the pins out. “And also the one on Harrison, down by the river.”  
  
Mya kept rifling through records and papers, swiping at a dust coating some of the files. This was taking so long, too long. _Why can’t one of these addresses just be circled and have arrows pointing to it that says ‘Go here’?_ She rubbed her forehead. “The West Rush one burned down six years ago, this says.”  
  
“I remember that fire,” Brynden said, plucking another pin out of the map. “Riverfront smelled like bacon for weeks after.” He chuckled, glanced at Mya’s horrified expression, and coughed. “Sorry.”  
  
“Anyway,” Robb said, casting a glare at Brynden and looking at the map. “Most of these places would give him the space he needs, and obviously the tools, but they wouldn’t offer the privacy. He’ll be going someplace where he can transport the who-...women without being seen, or heard.”  
  
“It might be outside the city limits.” Asha cocked her head and pointed to a clump of areas; one on the north side on the city, one to the east, and one to the far south.. “Like any of these here.”  
  
“Which do we go to?” Mya nibbled a hangnail. “Should we split up?”  
  
“No,” Brynden replied quickly. “That is a decidedly _bad_ idea.”  
  
Robb shook his head. “It’s a crapshoot, really. We may as well start with the northernmost one. It’s closest to the Bolton’s house - maybe he likes being close to home?”  
  
“It’s as good a reason as any.” Brynden said. He glanced at Mya. “You sure you’re up for this, kid?”  
  
Her spine stiffened. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
Brynden rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Asha and Robb. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I don’t doubt that your heart is in this as much as it can be, and I know exactly what’s at stake for you. But there could be some real bad business we’re walking into here. Real bad. And I know these two,” he nodded at Robb and Asha, “may be a little better prepared for it. You’re just not as hard-boiled as the rest of us. And that’s through no fault of your own,” Brynden held up a hand to stop her before she even opened her mouth. “I just want to make sure you go into this with your eyes open.”  
  
Asha sighed impatiently, and Robb shot her a look. Mya took a breath, but hesitated. _Was_ she ready? Was she ready for the possibility she’d be holding Theon’s body soon, for the idea that he was gone? She closed her eyes, again seeing the nearly-black blood flowing from Theon’s throat and the milky-white cataracts of the dead hookers. Her hand drifted to her throat, and she felt Theon’s dead grip on her. _It can’t be any worse than that. And anyway, you’re no delicate little flower. Whatever’s waiting, you can handle it._  
  
“Mya?” Robb touched her arm, and her eyes flew open.  
  
“I know what we’re going into,” she said. “I’m ready.”  
  
Robb nodded again, then glanced around the room quickly, lighting on a phone on the wall. “It’s after six. I should let Roslin know where I am. You know how she gets.”  
  
Brynden nodded and gathered up their list of addresses, jerking his head towards the door. Asha followed him out into the hall while Robb spoke quietly into the receiver. Mya was halfway out the door, and she heard him chuckle.   
  
“You just stay there, and we’ll call you once we’re done, Roslin. I promise...and tell Mrs. Darry I’m sorry for calling so early.” He listened for a moment longer, and she could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I love you, Roslin.”  
  
 _I_ loved _you..._  
  
Mya’s jaw clenched as Robb hung up the phone, and Asha cast her a look. “You love him, don’t you.” When Mya fumbled for an answer, she smirked. “Ah well, if you two get hitched, I’d rather have you for a sister-in-law than that whore at my club.” She draped an arm over Mya’s shoulders and steered her towards the stairs heading up. “Let’s get a move on, _dove_.”  
  
\----------------  
  
Bolton Meats’ abandoned Uptown complex was set in a low, wide valley half an hour north of the city, and a misty fog clung to the ground, gently stirred by some unfelt breeze. Kingsport felt a million miles away, swallowed into the dying night. None of them spoke, and Mya couldn’t even begin to comprehend what they were thinking. Her thoughts were solely on Theon. With each mile behind them, she became more and more convinced he was here. _Don’t get ahead of yourself..._ but the tiny pinprick of reason in her mind was silenced as Brynden pulled into the empty parking lot, replaced by the certainty that this nightmare was almost over.  
  
The slaughterhouse was a hulking black structure in the greenish pre-dawn light. The cattleyard was littered with scraps of newspaper plastered against fenceposts, and a rusty gate swung open and closed forlornly. Mya gazed up at the structure from the back seat of Brynden’s car, feeling the car shudder as he downshifted and parked. As if on some unspoken command he, Robb, and Asha all drew handguns out and checked to make sure they were loaded, and Mya’s hands twined around each other, conspicuously empty.  
  
Asha glanced over at her and smirked. “Not packin’, dove?”  
  
“Don’t call me that.” Mya snapped. Hearing Asha use the pet name her brother did was ratcheting Mya’s temper higher and higher towards her breaking point.  
  
“Leave her alone,” Robb glanced over his shoulder at Asha, his tone cold. Asha matched his glare.  
  
“Alright,” Brynden broke in with a warning in his tone. “We go in together, we come out together. Understood?” Satisfied with their silent nods, he added his own. “Let’s go then. Mya, you stick with me.”  
  
The inside of the factory was, if possible, more forbidding than the outside. Rusty water dripped from a leak in the ceiling, and ventilation fans cast sharp shadows across the cracked concrete floor. Dank and reeking of mold, one hallway led to another, and another, and another. Room after room they checked and while some held dried bones, or suspicious blotches on the floor or wall, none held Theon, or Ramsay, or any sign of them. _The next one,_ Mya thought, _or the next, or the next._ She started to see her despair mirrored on Robb’s face and even Brynden’s, but Asha’s remained resolutely stoney and impassive.The silence was the worst, though. Mya found herself almost hoping for the sound of another voice - a cry, a shout, anything. Even a laugh or a pained scream. _Theon, where are you?  
_  
Asha paused by a half-open steel door, head cocked. She hissed at  Brynden, her sharp eyes glancing at the door. Mya’s pulse skittered as she heard a quiet sound - chains rattling, a soft scratching noise. This was the last room, their last chance. She didn’t dare speak, instead laying a hand on Brynden’s arm. He jerked, his finger tight on the trigger. He gave her a warning look and snapped his fingers once at Robb, who edged over to them, leaning close to Mya. “Stay behind me, stay out here. If Ramsay’s in there, and if we start firing, you hit the deck. Understand? And if he comes out, you run for the main road.” Eyes widening, she nodded. He looked at her terrified expression and his lips quirked in a smile. “This isn’t the time to be scared,” he whispered. “I need you to be brave. Theon needs you to be brave, yeah?”  
  
Mya gave a tremulous smile. “I’ll do my best.”  
  
“Good.” Robb pecked her cheek and turned back to Brynden and Asha, suddenly all business. He nodded, and the three of them swept into the room. Mya clung close to the wall, expecting to hear gunshots, yells, some sound of scuffle...but nothing for a long moment. Then, “Son of a _bitch,_ ” followed by the loud clang of metal on metal. She screwed up her courage and peered around the doorframe, and her heart plummeted.  
  
The room was empty, save for a rat dragging a scrap of sodden cardboard out from under a rusted chain. It was completely empty.  
  
They’d chosen wrong.


	11. What Once Was Lost

The tension in Brynden Tully’s old jalopy was palpable, settling around the four of them like so much choking smoke. Asha felt like she was on a knife’s edge, and judging by the demeanors of her three unlikely companions, they felt much the same. Robb had slid into the back seat with Mya when they’d returned to the car, and Asha hadn’t failed to notice the way their hands were linked across the expanse of the back seat.  _Weak_ , she thought dismissively,  _both of them weak_ .   
  
“Where to next?” Brynden’s gravely voice interrupted her thoughts. “We’ve got two choices, east or south. Make your choice, and do it fast.”   
  
The car was silent for a moment, until Asha swiveled, looking over the high bench seat at Robb and Mya. “Well, Stark, whaddya say? East or south?” The look of indecision on Robb’s face brought a thought to her head, and she smirked.  “Better choose wisely, the more places we bust into without warrants, the worse it’ll be for you.”   
  
Robb poked a finger in her face, letting go of Mya’s hand. “I oughta arrest you right-”   
  
“Get your finger outta my face before I break it, Stark,” Asha snarled. She was in no mood to have some goody two-shoes threatening her, even if he  was instrumental in finding her brother.   
  
“Enough!”   
  
“Robb, stop it!”   
  
Brynden and Mya spoke at the same time, and she felt Brynden put a firm hand on her shoulder. Mya was pulling Robb back out of her face, and Asha saw her lace her fingers through his again, whispering in his ear.   
  
“Oh,  _that’s_ rich!” Asha chortled. “But hey, Theon lost two brothers to a Stark, why not his little piece of ass as well?” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true, but damn, did it feel good to say it anyway. Asha had a knack for finding someone’s weak spot and poking at it until it bled. She laughed even harder as both Mya and Robb turned twelve shades of red. “Knowing my baby brother, he’d probably forgive you anyway, Stark.” She winked at Mya, grinning. “Not you, though, dove.”   
  
Before either of them could reply, there was a long scream of rubber on asphalt and Asha felt a wiry arm at her back holding her in place as the car came to a screeching halt. “Now that’s enough, damnit!” Brynden Tully roared. “You all need to just stop it, before I take you down to Selmy’s office and hand this whole thing over to him.” He turned Asha around on the seat, firmly, but not ungently. “You. Eyes forward and leave those two alone.” He looked over his shoulder. “You two, hush up and don’t let yourself be provoked. We’re all worried and everyone deals with that differently.”   
  
Asha heard Robb mutter under his breath, catching the words “ungrateful bitch”. She laughed delightedly. “Of course I’m a bitch, Stark! Are you really surprised?” Brynden shot her a glance, the warning clear on his craggy face, and Asha mimed locking her lips with a key. He shook his head at her, amused despite himself and the circumstances. For someone on the wrong side of the law from her, Asha rather enjoyed Brynden Tully’s company.   
  
Giving the car some gas, Brynden cleared his throat and shifted gears. “Without snipping at each other, I need a direction, folks. East, or south?”   
  
“East.”   
  
“South.”   
  
Brynden sighed. “Of course, you two  _wouldn’t_ agree. Mya, I didn’t hear you chime in. You probably say west, don’t you?”   
  
Mya leaned forward, ears still flaming, and looked directly at Asha. “Why do you say east?”    
  
“It’s closer,” Asha replied plainly. “The odds aren’t getting any better, and time isn’t on our side.”   
  
Mya twisted in the seat, looking at Robb. “And you? Why south?” A lock of glossy black hair swung loose, brushing her cheek, and Asha resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. She really did like the girl, for the most part, and she wondered if her brother knew how much she cared about him. Theon could be hopelessly thick sometimes, but it was almost painfully evident that Mya loved him, to Asha anyway.    
  
Robb was saying something, but Asha spoke over him. “East, Tully. It makes more sense and you know it. I want my goddamn brother back, so drive.”    
  
It was silent for a heartbeat before Robb sat back in the seat, scrubbing a hand through his messy curls. “Fuck it, go ahead Uncle Bryn. East it is.”   
  
\----------   
  
This packing plant, on the far eastern outskirts of Kingsport, was just as desolate as the first, but as they pulled up, coasting to a stop a ways off, two things caught Asha’s eye that kindled a tiny flame of hope in her belly. The first was the shiny new chain on the gates, looped through and locked tightly with a massive padlock. She pointed at it silently, and Brynden Tully nodded once. She could pick it easily, but...   
  
And there came the second thing Asha had noticed. There was at least one light burning somewhere in this building. The windows held flickering shadows that could come from no other source than an internal light. She’d been right, and even knowing that something horrible almost certainly awaited inside, she couldn’t help but turn and grin triumphantly at Robb in the backseat.

  
“Maybe I shoulda been a cop, with my instincts, huh Stark?”    
  
To her immense surprise, he merely smiled at her tightly. “Maybe. Your brother is a damn good one, and you’re a sight smarter than his reckless ass.” He chuckled as he pulled out his force-issued pistol, checking the clip. “A woman cop, though...that’ll be the day.”   
  
“Because we’d show all you knuckleheads up,” she said, winking at Mya. It was the closest she could bring herself to apologizing, but the wavery smile she got in return told her it was good enough. “Mya, doll, gimme a couple of your hairpins, would ya?”   
  
As Mya slid a few bobby pins from her hair, Asha pulled out the .44 she was packing. She checked the clip with a practiced ease, although the gun wasn’t as familiar to her as she would’ve liked. She rubbed a thumb over the small “VG” burnt into the wooden butt of the pistol. Her uncle had insisted she take his weapon, instead of her own smaller piece; for an unsentimental man like Vic, a gesture like that meant...well, more than she had time to dwell on just at the moment.   
  
Before her thoughts could drift too far, Mya nudged her shoulder, handing her the pins. Asha straightened them out, one by one, holding them between her teeth as she worked. When she was through, she turned to the other three. “The lock won’t be a problem, but that gate’s rusted as hell. I’m only gonna to open it enough for us to slip through on foot, understand?” They all nodded, but Asha caught a glimpse of something in Robb’s eyes. “Problem, Stark?”   
  
He stared at her for a moment, but shook his head. “No. Let’s just do this.”   
  
The four of them made their way to the gate, where Asha handed her gun to Brynden and set to work on the padlock. The first pin broke almost as soon as she got it in the lock, and Asha cursed under her breath. “Damnit...”   
  
“Go easy,” Bryn said, crouching beside her. “These new ones are hell, even on lockpicking tools.”   
  
She glanced at him, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I could use a kit right about now. You got one handy, Tully?”   
  
“Afraid not, girl,” He cast a glance over his shoulder at Robb and Mya, waiting behind a bush some little way off. “Besides, I figure with my nephew around, it might be better just to let you do all the breakin’ and entering’.” He turned her gun over in his hands, raising one bushy eyebrow at the initials on the butt. “Nice piece. It’s seen some action, I’d bet.”   
  
Asha’s fingers were beginning to go numb from the tiny manipulations she was performing on the lock, so she paused a moment, looking at Brynden from the corner of her eye. “Give the man a prize. What about it?” The challenge that came into her voice was second nature; she liked Tully, and he wasn’t necessarily on the side of the law  all the time, but she wasn’t taking any chances.   
  
“Nothing,” he said blandly. “Just making conversation. Watch that pin.”   
  
She turned her attention back to the task at hand, guiding the pin in further and feeling another tumbler click into place. After another agonizing minute, she had the lock swinging open on its brand new chain, and Brynden was easing the gate open as quietly as he could manage. Asha waved to Robb and Mya, and they came running, slipping through the gate after her.   
  
The door to the building, massive and thick, was also locked, but for all its size, it only boasted a simple door lock. Asha made quick work of it, the heavy steel door swinging open silently, its hinges obviously well-greased. “Fuck-” She choked out, turning her head away from the gentle breeze wafting through the open doorway. It smelled like blood, and death, and, most unsettling of all, seared meat.  _Please let us not be too late..._ Asha felt her stomach turn over once, but she took a deep breath of night air and steeled herself.   
  
Robb and Brynden exchanged a glance, simultaneously pulling handkerchiefs from their pockets. “Well, it  _is_ a meatpacking plant...” Robb had the look of someone trying to sell himself a lie, and failing miserably. He turned to Mya behind him, saying, “Stay right behind me, but for God’s sake,  _don’t_ grab me or I’m liable to shoot you on accident.”   
  
They went through the door single file, Brynden first, then Asha, Robb following her, holding an arm out to shield Mya behind him. Fleetingly, Asha wished her uncle Vic could’ve come with them, but she knew just how unwise that would’ve been. The space was cavernous, with only a tenuous thread of light coming from a door left ajar on the far side of the giant room. The closer they got to that door, the worse the smell got, laying heavy on them like fog rolling off the bay, and Asha began to dread what lay behind it.   
  
When they were within a few yards of the door, they heard a voice. Asha couldn’t make out what it was saying, but she could tell by the tone and pitch that it wasn’t Theon, although it was a man. _ Bolton, that bastard. Is he talking to himself, or...? _ She pushed the rest of that thought aside; if Bolton was in the room, she had to assume he was armed.  _Take him down first, then worry about Theon. He can’t get away with this...remember what Theon did for Vic’s hand._ Nobody fucked with the Greyjoys and lived to tell the tale.   
  
Brynden held up a hand, halting the small line behind him. “I think the light is coming from the room one past the door,” he whispered. “Once we’re in, we’ve got to move quick. Ready?”   
  
They all nodded, and Robb grasped Asha loosely by the elbow. “ _Don’t_ shoot unless he’s armed. And then only to put him to the ground. You understand?” He slipped past her, resting a hand on his great-uncle’s shoulder. “Let me take the lead, Uncle Bryn. It should be somewhat official, at least.”

  
Asha opened her mouth to protest, but Mya slipped an icy hand into hers, squeezing once. “Robb said Stannis Baratheon will throw the book at him. He’s got to be brought to justice.”   
  
Smiling grimly, Asha pulled her hand from the other girl’s and nodded at the .44 raised to her shoulder. “This is the only justice I know.”    
  
They were moving again before Mya could reply, though Asha saw the quick look of distaste that flitted across her features. Robb pushed the door open slowly. Asha’s first thought was that Brynden had been right...there was another room beyond this one. But the thought fled as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw what lay on the stainless-steel table in the middle of the room.   
  
The girl was quite clearly dead, and from what Asha could see, it hadn’t been an easy death. The smell in the room was unbearable, a thick, choking stench so horrible Asha wondered how Bolton ever went out in public without the smell of death following him. She could hear his voice clearly now, but before she could make out more than a single word, “wake”, Mya was clutching the back of her coat.   
  
Everything moved so quickly after that. The hoarse scream that slipped past Mya’s lips was hardly louder than a cough, really. But in the crypt-like silence of the slaughterhouse, it was plenty loud enough. She stumbled back against the door, covering her mouth in horror, but in the same moment, the far door was wrenched open to reveal a large, fleshy man wielding a wickedly curved blade. He looked puzzled for half a second, before an incandescent rage overtook his features.   
  
“Put down the knife, Bolton!” Robb yelled, leveling his gun at the other man.   
  
There was a brief moment when it looked as though Ramsay might obey the command, but Asha watched the way his eyes moved, the way his grip shifted on the handle of the knife, and she knew he’d never give up that blade. There was no time to think, so she just stepped up beside Brynden, raised her gun, and squeezed off a round. The shot was deafening in that small of a space, but it went right where she intended it to: into the meat of his right shoulder, causing him to lose his grasp on the knife.    
  
Bolton crumpled to the floor, right in the middle of the doorway. Asha couldn’t help but smile at the little whimpers of pain he was emitting, but when her gaze moved upward, into the room beyond, the smile died on her lips.    
  
“Jesus H. Christ,” Brynden swore softly. “Is that...?”   
  
Asha knew it was, she’d recognize her brother anywhere, but she could see how it would be easy to wonder. He barely looked human, hanging there like that. What  _she_ wondered was if he was still alive. He was hanging so still...

  
Asha knew the exact moment Mya saw him. The choked sound she made was painful to hear, and she’d slipped past Asha and Brynden before either of them could even blink. Robb managed to catch her around the waist before she could get too close to where Bolton was still writhing in pain in the doorway.   
  
“Oh, get him down, Robb! Get him down, for God’s sake,  _please_ !” Asha winced at the rawness in the other girl’s voice.   
  
“Help me, Tully,” she said quietly, motioning to him as she picked her way across the filthy room. They both stepped over Ramsay Bolton, Asha making sure to drive the heel of her shoe into one of his outstretched palms, and into the well-lit room where Theon was hanging against a damp brick wall. “I’ll get...” she swallowed hard. “I’ll hold him up, you undo the chain.”   
  
The closer she got to her brother, the worse things looked. Whatever shirt he’d been wearing when Bolton had taken him was long gone now, and his bare torso was crisscrossed with cuts and gashes, some still bleeding, others crusted over. There were a few that looked particularly bad, like the long, deep slice on his left forearm and the jagged wound just above the waistband of his pants, which were nearly falling off. Asha figured she could count every one of his ribs, and probably strike a match on the jutting angles of his hip bones.   
  
Up close like this, she could see he was breathing, albeit shallowly, but he didn’t open his eyes, even when she laid a tentative hand on a patch of untouched skin just above his right hip. “Let’s get you down, baby brother,” she said, letting her hand ease around his back to support him. The amount of blood that slicked her arm told her there was at least one wound on his back as well, and she realized there was no way she was going to be able to let Ramsay Bolton live. “Go ahead, Tully.”   
  
When Brynden unlooped the chain from its peg on the wall, Theon collapsed against her, dead weight in her arms. It was only because of the way his head lolled on her shoulder that she was able to hear him when he spoke in a creaky whisper. “Hey, sis. Took ya long enough...”   
  
“Shut up, Theon.” Asha blinked twice, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. Theon would never let her live it down if she cried. “You shouldn’t have gone off alone, you damn idiot.” She boosted him up a bit in her arms, biting her lip when he stifled a cry against her shoulder. “Sorry, sorry!”   
  
“Fuckin’...hurts. Christ, be gentle,” Theon said, pulling himself up slightly against her. “‘S’that Robb an’ Mya?” The simple act of talking seemed to be almost more than he could handle, judging by the way he wheezed after every word. “Jesus, why’d you all bring Mya? She shouldn’t see...” He broke off into a nasty-sounding cough, just as Brynden came and helped her hold him up.   
  
Robb was still holding Mya in the next room, Asha saw, keeping her well away from Bolton, who had stopped squirming and was now simply lying on the ground bleeding like a stuck pig.  _Now’s your only chance_ . She shifted Theon’s weight onto Brynden slightly and drew her borrowed gun. But something didn’t feel right... Asha turned to Brynden, “Think I can have a sec with my brother, Tully?”   
  
His eyes flicked to the gun in her hand before meeting hers, and she could see the conflicting emotions in his eyes, but he nodded after a moment. “Sure thing, but you’d better make it quick, or Robb’ll have something to say about it.”   
  
As soon as he stepped away, going to stand by Robb and Mya, Asha nudged Theon with a hip. “Can you do it, or you want me to?” She assumed he’d understand, and he did.   
  
“Give me the damn gun,” he said. Even though he was whispering, the steely tone she heard in that whisper made her grin nastily. It was pure Greyjoy. “But you’ll have to hold me steady.”   
  
“That’s what family’s for,” she said, wrapping his fingers around the stock of the gun. “Easy now, it’s a lot to handle...”   
  
“I’ve used it before. Now hold me up, it’s...goddamn heavy,” Theon glanced at her before turning his gaze back to the man on the floor. His voice was faint, but far from weak. “Told you I’d get down, you sick fuck.”   
  
Asha tightened her grip on him, half afraid she’d snap his protruding ribs, bracing for the blast. She saw the moment Mya understood what they were doing, half a second before Robb. He turned his head aside, clearly torn, but Mya never took her eyes off Theon, Asha noted approvingly.  _She’s tougher than she seems, and she_ does _love him_ ...   
  
Ramsay smirked. “Big man, now you’ve got a gun. But we both know I broke you just like-” Whatever else he had been about to say was lost in the echoing blast of the handgun, and the hushed silence that followed.   
  
Theon may’ve been weak, but his aim was as true as ever, and his shot found its mark just as Asha’s had, plugging a neat hole in the middle of Ramsay Bolton’s forehead. Asha caught her brother as he sagged against her, the kick of the gun sapping what was left of his strength. “Robb...Mya...,” he gasped.    
  
But before Asha could take him to them, Robb was helping Mya over Bolton’s body and into the room. She almost went down when one of her low heels slipped in the growing pool of blood around the corpse, but Robb hoisted her up by an elbow and they made their way across the room.   
  
The awkward silence that followed when they stopped in front of Asha and Theon seemed to drag on forever. She could see them both taking stock of Theon’s numerous injuries, silent tears rolling down Mya’s cheeks. It was her brother who finally broke the silence.   
  
“Don’t cry, dove, c’mon.” He shifted slightly in Asha’s grip, his voice growing faint. “Jesus, Stark, she shouldn’t’ve had to see this...” Robb and Mya both began to speak at once, but both of them fell silent when a fit of wracking coughs left Theon gasping for air. After a moment, he recovered enough to smile weakly, cheekbones razor-sharp in his too-thin face. “Mya, doll, how ‘bout a kiss?”   
  
Mya blinked, eyes watery, but before she could reply, Asha felt Theon turn to dead weight in her arms. The three of them stared at each other, and Asha felt her lips twitching.  _That’s Theon, asking for a kiss and keeling over_ ...  No sooner had she thought it, than Robb laughed, a humorless bark.   
  
“Well if that isn’t Theon, I don’t know what is,” he said, coming to help Asha carry her brother to the car. Their hands brushed as they lifted him, and for the first time in a long time, Asha felt supremely awkward.   
  
“Oi, Tully!” She called out to Brynden, who was having a look around the rooms and jotting notes in a small notepad. “Bring that car right through the gate, why don’tcha?”   
  
He nodded once and went off to do as she bid, leaving Asha alone with her unconscious brother, his little girlfriend, and a copper who’d arrest her given half a chance. “Let’s get him outta here, Stark,” she said.


	12. Resting (un)Comfortably

The shouting was what woke him. For longer than he cared to admit, Theon was sure he was still hanging in that slaughterhouse, listening to Ramsay Bolton butcher another poor whore. But slowly, he came to realize that he was in a narrow bed, with crisp, cool sheets tucked around him. If Mya had been in the bed beside him, he would’ve thought he was in heaven. Except that damn shouting...   
  
“It was the only thing to do, so I did it, Stark! That sonuvabitch deserved to die, and you know it!”   
  
“He  _deserved_ a trial! You can’t go around just shooting-”   
  
“That’s a load of hooey! I can and will shoot anyone who crosses me and mine, you got that?!”   
  
Dragging his eyes open was difficult, and when he saw the source of the shouting, he half-wished he’d just left them closed, and slept through the verbal beatdown that was occurring. His sister and his best friend were nose-to-nose, and even with his blurry vision, he could see Asha was a heartbeat away from socking Robb in the kisser.   
  
“Theon?” A cool hand brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, and he recognized the voice and the gesture.  _Mya_ ... “Shut  _up_ , you two, he’s awake.” She leaned in, scooting the dingy wooden chair she was perched on closer to his bed. “They’ve been going at it non-stop...I  _told_ them they were going to wake you.”   
  
Turning his head proved more laborious than he’d expected, but the sight of her was worth the pain it caused. She looked like utter shit, with dark circles under her eyes, hair a mess...and he’d never seen a prettier sight. “Hiya, dove. Goddamn, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Theon tried to lift his hand, wanting to tuck a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. He got it about an inch off the bed before the pain set in, and dropped it with a grunt.   
  
“Oh, please,” Mya chuckled, taking his hand in both of hers. “I haven’t slept in days, and we’ve been breaking into abandoned  _slaughterhouses_ , for goodness sake. I look horrible. And don’t try and move, you’ve got to lay still.” She glanced at the foot of the bed where Robb and Asha were still arguing, albeit in much quieter tones, and raised her voice slightly. “And you need peace and  _quiet_ .”   
  
Theon had to laugh at the way Robb’s mouth snapped shut, a guilty look coming across his face. Asha, on the other hand, just smiled at Mya sharply as she came around to the other side of the bed. “I can take a hint. I need to go anyway...if I’m allowed to, that is?” She put a hand possessively in Theon’s hair, ruffling it gently as she cast a challenging stare at Robb. Theon was confused, and already feeling like he needed to sleep again, but Asha hadn’t mussed his hair since he was a little boy on Pyke, and it felt nice, he thought fuzzily. He didn’t want her to go.    
  
“It’s fine. But I don’t ever want to see you again, Greyjoy. You understand? Next time I do, I’m taking you in.” Robb’s voice was so hard and cold, and Theon was starting to drift off again, but he squinted at his friend at the end of the bed...he couldn’t understand why Robb was acting that way.   
  
“Don’t worry, Stark, you won’t.” Asha bent over the bed, and Theon felt her press her lips to his cheek, then wipe off a smudge of lipstick with her thumb, uncharacteristically gentle. When she spoke again, it was quiet, for his ears only. “Get better, baby brother. I’ll be back to see you when your guard dog isn’t around.”   
  
Theon smiled vaguely at the idea of Robb as his guard dog, his eyes drifting closed again. He could hear Asha’s heels clicking on the tile floor as she left, and Robb and Mya were talking softly, but he couldn’t make out the words. Mya squeezed his hand gently, and he gave up trying to listen, letting sleep overtake him again.   
  
\-----------------------   
  
“Theon...Theon, wake up.”   
  
The voice was quiet, but insistent, as was the hand on his shoulder. “Theon, wake up, you lazy ass.”   
  
“Robb!” A woman’s, no, a girl’s, voice now. “He’s hurt, let him sleep if he wants!” The girl sounded scandalized...it had to be Sansa, he realized.   
  
_How did I not recognize_ Robb’s _voice, of all people?_ Theon cracked one eye, glaring at Robb. “Listen t’your sister, you...” He trailed off as he glanced past Robb and saw the whole damn Stark family, minus Catelyn, was there, standing at the foot of his bed staring at him like he was an elephant at the zoo.   
  
Robb chuckled. “Mother’s having a nice chat with the nurse down the hall. When we came in, your bandages were all bloody...”   
  
“Poor nurse,” Theon croaked. His throat was so dry... He stared back at the Stark children, too tired to rib them like usual. Sansa looked to be almost in tears, Arya and little Rickon both looked like they wanted to stab something, and Bran...Bran just looked thoughtful. Theon avoided all their eyes, looking around the room. “Mya?”   
  
Robb perched on the side of his bed, jumping back up guiltily at the little groan of pain Theon gave. The slightest jostling made him feel every individual cut and wound. “Sorry... Anyway, Uncle Brynden took Mya to her dorm, just to clean up and change her clothes.”   
  
Arya came around to the other side of his bed, leaning over to peer at his face. “She didn’t want to leave at all, but I told her if she didn’t, she might start to smell, and that you probably wouldn’t like that all that much.” She grinned at Sansa’s gasp. “You’re welcome.”   
  
“Arya! You are so rude! I’m telling Mother!”   
  
Theon closed his eyes, wishing they would all just keep their voices down. His head was beginning to ache  and spin, and he felt feverish all over. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed and Theon about jumped out of his skin. All of a sudden, he could feel all the Stark children’s eyes on him acutely, and it was like that pale-eyed ghost was staring at him again, taking catalogue of his failings and shortcomings. He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but he couldn’t seem to draw enough air into his lungs to think clearly.   
  
“I think Theon needs more rest,” Bran said solemnly, pushing himself over and taking Arya by the hand. Arya lingered a moment, wrapping her bony little hand around his and squeezing once. Theon gave her and Bran a weak half-smile, wanting nothing more than to slip back into a dreamless sleep and forget everything. “C’mon, Arya...get better soon, Theon,” Bran said, pulling his sister away.   
  
Sansa led the younger children out, and Theon closed his eyes gratefully, easing down further onto his pillows. It wasn’t that he wasn’t appreciative of them coming to see him, it was just...he couldn’t stand to have them all standing there staring at him like that. Once he’d gotten relatively comfortable, he could feel himself drifting off, even though Robb was still at his bedside. Distantly, he heard his friend pull up a chair and sit, but he didn’t speak, and eventually a deep, blessedly dreamless sleep carried him away.   
  
\-----------------------   
  
Theon liked the night nurse far more than he did the woman on the day shift. She was fat and pillowy, with some unpronounceable last name he didn’t bother learning , and she had a gentle touch with the bandages that the day nurse either didn’t have, or just didn’t use. But when she pulled Mya aside, whispering urgently and glancing at him from time to time, he wanted to throw a bedpan at her. If he’d been able to lift his arm enough to do so, anyway.    
  
As soon as she’d gone, Mya sat back down beside him and took his right hand. “Feel up for some visitors?” She asked, playing with his fingers idly. It made the fingers of his left hand, encased in a plaster cast, itch something fierce, but he didn’t ask her to stop. It was normalcy, and he liked it, besides.   
  
“Not really,” he replied, voice scratchy and hoarse. He could guess who’d be coming to visit this time of night, when Robb was sure to not be here. “Who all?”   
  
“How did you-?” She glanced at him with an amused expression. “Still pretty sharp, Detective. And it’s all of ‘em. I tried to tell the nurse...” She shrugged resignedly. “Would you want to order the notorious Greyjoy family to leave?”

  
“Oh, we’re  _notorious_ now?” Asha sounded amused, like usual. “I like the sound of that...”   
  
Theon groaned, not even bothering to hide it, as his sister waltzed in and plopped herself down on the edge of his bed, ruffling his hair and running her nails lightly along his scalp. “Get...off,” he managed to choke out, trying to hold still as her weight rolled him over slightly, pain flaring up along his left arm and side.   
  
“Yes, niece, do get out of your dear brother’s bed. Quite unseemly, you know.” Asha was blocking Theon’s view, but he recognized that warm voice, full of dangerous laughter. And if he’d needed anymore confirmation, the way Mya’s hand clamped down on his would’ve been another indicator.   
  
“Uncle Euron,” he said flatly. Asha hopped lightly off the bed, and he saw all three of his uncles had slipped into the room, Aeron in his priestly robes, and Vic looking distinctly uncomfortable next to his older brother. “Aeron, Vic.” He had nothing to say to them, why were they here?   
  
“Asha told us what happened,” Euron said, glancing at Mya with an odd smile. “You were brave, Miss Stone, and clever, and evidently quite a liar. I wouldn’t’ve thought you had it in you. Impressive, indeed.”   
  
Theon was foggy-headed from morphine, and confused.  _A liar?_ Mya’s grip on his hand was vise-like, and he wanted to tell her not to break his only good hand, but it was obvious she was petrified, so he didn’t. “Why’re you-, why-” What he was  _trying_ to say was, ‘Why’re you here’, but a wracking, wet cough, courtesy of Ramsay Bolton’s damp, cold torture chamber, swallowed his words and sent sharp pain radiating across his body. “...fuck,” he finished weakly, trying to catch his breath.   
  
Euron smiled again, that strange, twisted smile of his. “Whatever else you are, you are still a Greyjoy, nephew. I wanted to see what that  _monster_ had done to you.” Something in his uncle’s tone rang false to Theon, but he was far too tired to try and figure it out. Euron raised an eyebrow at him, and Theon wondered if there had been a question he’d missed. “Well? Let us see,” Euron said finally.   
  
It took a second, but then Theon realized what he was saying.  _He wants to see...that asshole._ “Fine,” was all he said though. There was no use fighting it. He nodded at Mya, and she and Asha worked together to get his thin hospital gown and bandages off. It was a painful process, but thankfully brief, and soon he was bare to the hips, the night air cool on his hot skin.   
  
“Fuck...” he heard his uncle Vic mutter, and Asha went to stand beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist.    
  
“I told you it was bad,” she murmured. Theon hated that they’d been talking about him, hated the way they were all staring at him, but it was hard to maintain that self-righteous hatred when he was so damn tired...   
  
His uncle Euron folded his arms across his chest, staring a beat longer than everyone else. “Bad is one way of putting it, yes. But you seem to be healing nicely...I expect you’ll be back to work soon?”   
  
“Brother, I hardly think-” Aeron began, but Euron raised a hand, cutting him off.   
  
“I didn’t ask your opinion on the matter, Aeron,” Euron said softly. “Theon?”   
  
Mya’s fingernails were digging little crescent moons into his palm, she was gripping his hand so hard, but Theon just smiled wearily. He’d say anything to get them out at this point. “Whatever you say, unc.”   
  
Before his uncle could respond, the night nurse bustled in with an armful of fresh bandages and blankets. Her eyebrows rose halfway to her hairline as she took in the odd little scene. “Oh! Well, someone’s done a bit of my work for me, haven’t they?” She clucked disapprovingly, shaking her head at nobody in particular as she came over and began checking Theon’s numerous stitches. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but best leave such things to trained professionals.”   
  
One of his uncles snorted, Theon couldn’t tell who, but if he’d had to guess, he would’ve said Vic, judging by the way Asha was hiding a smirk. The nurse turned around with a death glare to rival Aeron’s, pointing a finger. “Out, you lot. He needs peace and quiet. Normal people don’t come to visit in the middle of the night, you know!”   
  
Theon could’ve kissed her when his family started filing out, apparently unwilling to fight with a rampaging night nurse, but he had to laugh when Asha winked at him and called out, “Normal is the  _last_ thing you’d call a Greyjoy, lady.”   
  
\-----------------------   
  
The next time he woke up, Theon was alone, or so he thought. A nightmare had dragged him from sleep, his thin hospital blanket twisted around his legs, clinging to the cold sweat coating him. Taking a few deep breaths, he slowly, painfully, pushed himself up against the bed until he was sitting. Only then did he notice Mya, curled up in a club chair in the corner of the room, one of the same hospital blankets tucked around her legs.   
  
Theon looked around the room curiously, feeling clear-headed for the first time in what felt like weeks. There was a small potted plant on his bedside table, the card tucked among the leaves too hard to read from where he lay. He also noticed that, while he had a window, two of the walls of his room were actually long, white curtains. Evidently they’d curtained off a corner of a room to give him a little privacy, and he had to say he was grateful for it.   
  
He turned his gaze back to Mya, noticing the first pink rays of sunrise in the grimy window behind her. The chair, a overstuffed leather club chair, looked awfully nice for a hospital, especially given the thin mattress he was laying on. Theon was going back and forth with himself in his head on whether or not to wake her, when she saved him the trouble of having to decide, blinking at him owlishly.   
  
“Theon? Are you alright?” She dragged the chair over to his bedside, smiling apologetically as the legs screeched on the tile floor. “Sorry...I hate that noise, but this chair’s so comfortable.”   
  
“Where’d you get it? It looks kinda fancy for this place...” He gestured at the curtain walls, clearing his dry throat. “And what’s a fella gotta do to get a glass of water around here?”   
  
Mya gave his cheek a quick peck before going to the divide in the curtains. “Sit tight, Detective, and I’ll bring you one.” He noticed she’d avoided answering his first question.   
  
When she returned, a tall glass of water in hand, Theon tried to take it from her, but Mya was having none of it. She lifted the glass to his lips and gave him the barest sip before taking it back.

  
“What gives, doll? I’m parched,” he said, not bothering to keep his annoyance from his voice.   
  
She gave him a look, but brought the glass back to his lips, giving him a longer drink. “The doctor said you shouldn’t drink it all at once, that it might make you sick.”   
  
“Water?” Theon was incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”   
  
“I’m just telling you what the doctor said, Theon,” Mya said. He was confused by the small smile he saw cross her face as she set the glass on the bedside table. “You can have some more in a little while.”   
  
He sighed, accepting the fact that he was at her mercy. “Fine. So, tell me what happened. And where’d you get that chair? It looks more comfortable than this bed...” She’d taken his hand after setting the water down, and he laced his fingers through hers, pulling her closer despite the pain moving brought. “Though it might not be so bad if you climbed in.”   
  
At that, Mya burst out laughing, though she quickly covered her mouth with a hand, stifling the sound. “Well, you’re certainly feeling better, aren’t you?” She leaned in and kissed him again, her lips lingering on his this time. It was sweeter by far than the water had been. “Not yet, though. You’re still healing. And the chair  is comfortable,” she said with a grin. “Asha had it brought over from the club...made your Uncle Vic carry it right up and everything.”   
  
Theon laughed, and instantly regretted it. The pain was immediate and intense, radiating from his lower back and stomach. “...the fuck...” he wheezed, flopping back on the pillows.   
  
“Sorry!” Mya said, looking contrite. “You’ve got to rest, you’ve got stitches and wounds healing all over.   
  
“It’s all right, doll,” he replied. “Just...oof, don’t make me laugh.” He fiddled with the pillow behind him until he was comfortable. “Now, tell me everything.”   
  
“Well, what do you remember?”   
  
He thought a moment. What  _did_ he remember?  _Too much_ , he decided. “I remember everything up to you all finding me,” he said quietly. “Which reminds me. You shouldn’t’ve been there, Mya.”   
  
“Probably not,” she agreed pleasantly enough, although he didn’t miss the tiny glare she gave him. “But someone had to keep Robb and Asha from killing each other. Or arresting the other, in Robb’s case.” He chuckled, grimacing at the pain, as she went on. “Sorry! Anyway, after you...well, after Bolton was shot, we brought you here. And you’ve been here for a couple of days now. The doctors say you’re healing very well!” She ended brightly, but Theon was still parsing what she’d said.   
  
“Wait, back up. You started to say after  _I_ shot Bolton, but then you just said ‘after he was shot’,” Theon said slowly. “I definitely remember  _that_ , so what’re you hiding?”   
  
Mya sighed with a world-weary heave of her shoulders. Theon would’ve chuckled again, if it didn’t hurt so much. She looked exhausted and annoyed at the line of questioning. “Keep your voice down, will you?” She told him, leaning in and lowering her own voice. “Robb told Barristan Selmy that Brynden fired the shot that killed Bolton. As far as Selmy knows, Asha wasn’t there at all. He was mad enough that I was there...”   
  
“That’s good, I guess. But Asha didn’t kill him anyway, I did. And I have no problem-”   
  
“Well, it wasn’t up to you!” The fierce expression on her face gave him pause, and she went on. “You’d lost so much blood they weren’t even sure you’d make it, Theon. None of us wanted you to wake up and have to face Stannis Baratheon right out of the gate. It’s all been taken care of, alright?”   
  
“Alright, you win,” he said, winking at her. “Now, last question, then you’re getting on this here bed with me.” She raised her eyebrows at him, but didn’t say anything to the contrary, so he went on. “Who figured it out, and, for the love of God, how?”   
  
“Ramsay wrote a letter-”   
  
“I remember,” he interrupted. “Vividly. What do you think he wrote it with?” He gestured at his arm, wrapped tightly in layers of bandages.   
  
“I...God, don’t. You’ll make me sick,” Mya said, looking decidedly green. “Do you want to hear the story or not?” He nodded, and she went on. “Well, he sent the letter to the  _Lantern_ , and Robb managed to sneak it out, so we all could read it. There was a phrase he used...” She shook her head, mouth set in a grim line. “Turns out I’d read it before, in an article about the Bolton company’s legal troubles. From there, we narrowed it down to abandoned plants by looking at property records at City Hall.”   
  
“And you picked the right one straight off?” The odds of that didn’t seem high to Theon, but he supposed they could’ve gotten lucky.   
  
Mya blinked. “No, actually. We went to another one before we found you. That was...nervewracking.”    
  
Theon sensed there were things she wasn’t telling him, but he’d heard enough for now. “So you saved me, then? Miss Mya Stone, the intrepid girl reporter!”   
  
“Oh hush up, it was all of us...me, Robb, your sister, Mr. Tully,” she said, her small smile belying her modest words. “Do you want some more water?”   
  
“Nope,” he replied, tugging at her hand. “Like I said before, you’re getting up here with me.”   
  
“I can’t, Theon! Jeepers, you’re still hurt, y’know,” Mya protested feebly, letting him pull her hand up to his lips. “Really...”   
  
“C’mon...” He kissed her fingertips, not failing to note the chewed-down cuticles...she’d been worrying for far too long. “A beautiful woman in bed next to me  always makes me feel better.”   
  
“Any old beautiful woman will do, hmm?” She teased, sliding onto the narrow bed next to him and gingerly curling up against his side. It hurt to stretch his arm out and curl it around her, but the happy little noise she made when she tucked her head under his chin was well worth the pain. “Or do you have a preference?”   
  
He pressed a kiss along her hairline, relishing the warm, familiar smell of her. “I definitely have a preference, dove.” Mya was smoothing the thin hospital blanket over the sharp angle of his hip bone, a soothing, repetitive motion. A thought popped into his head, and out his mouth before he could even think twice. “Mya...you know I love you, right?”    
  
Theon wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them, feeling the way she went absolutely still against him, but he couldn’t deny that it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. She still hadn’t said anything, so he poked her in the side with a finger, the most he could manage without causing himself more pain. “Well? Jesus, say something, would ya?”   
  
Mya propped up on an elbow, giving him an amused, yet exasperated look. “I did not know that, no. Because you’d never said, until just now. It’s not usually phrased as a question...” Theon feigned a heavy sigh, and she giggled at the way he let his head droop. “You know that  _I_ love  _you_ , don’t you?”   
  
“I sort of figured,” Theon told her, pulling her back down to rest against the small spot on his shoulder that was free of injury. She settled in willingly, kissing his shoulder as she did so, and he let his fingers trail through her hair. “You’d have to, to stick around through something like this.”   
  
“Well I’m not going anywhere, so rest easy,” Mya told him, warm breath ghosting over his neck. “You should try and sleep some more, though, if you can.”   
  
“That might be possible,” he said, already feeling drowsy as he rested his chin atop her head. “‘S’long as you stay right where you are...” She didn’t answer him, but the way she curled closer was answer enough. After some time, the even sound of her breathing guided him back to sleep.


	13. Another Night

Margaery Tyrell  sauntered between the rows of desks, a rolled up paper tucked under her arm, and perched lightly on the corner of Mya’s desk. Mya jumped, upsetting her jar of paste. She set it upright and glanced up at Margaery, who, per usual, looked immaculate in festive autumn colors, and was grinning coyly down at her. “What’d I do this time?”   
  
Her grin only growing, she set the paper in front of Mya. “Tomorrow’s edition.”   
  
Mya glanced at the paper and did a double-take, staring. It had been another long day, full of classes and work, and between that and the looming depositions and questioning she and Theon had coming up, she thought she must’ve been seeing things. But no. There, tucked along the right-hand side of the front page, was her headline, her byline, her words. She gaped at Margaery, looking back and forth between the paper and the woman, mouth flapping uselessly.   
  
Margaery laughed, brushing a perfectly coiffed curl behind her ear. “I showed it to Loras and my husband, and they agreed - it needed to be printed. It was begging for it, really. So, there it is.” She toyed with her brooch, a gold leaf perched on the swell of her breast. “What do you think?”   
  
“Where did you even  _get_ that?!” She finally gasped. “I gave it to Professor Lannister, just as an exercise!”   
  
“A well-done exercise, at that. He turned it over to us and the rest, as they say, is history.” Margaery replied. “You should be proud - it’s not often we print something from a student. It’s not the _first_  time, but it’s one of only a handful I can think of.”   
  
Mya couldn’t speak. She’d returned to class and work the week after Theon had been found, and after she was sure he wouldn’t up and die on her, but it was hard. The things she’d seen at the slaughterhouse had stuck with her, lurking just behind her eyelids when she’d sleep or even sometimes when she was awake. After a few days, Tyrion Lannister had held her back after class and suggested it might help to write what she knew, what had happened, if for no other reason than to get it out of her head. That simple exercise had taken a life of its own, and after two days of furious typing, scratching out, phone calls, research, crumpled up sheets of paper, and no fewer than six arguments with Roslin over how loud she was typing at three in the morning, she’d handed over a slim stack of pages containing profiles of the girls Ramsay Bolton had killed, the obituaries they’d been denied. She said little of the events surrounding his death. The investigation still wasn’t closed, and even though she’d thought only Tyrion Lannister would see this, she didn’t want to get anyone in any deeper trouble.   
  
And now, hundreds of thousands of  _Kingsport Lantern_ readers would be reading her words come dawn. The thought was overwhelming. “I...I don’t know what to say. Thank you!”   
  
“Don’t thank me. Thank my husband - he bumped an article about the senate elections to page six for this.” Margaery winked. “How’s your fella, by the way? I’m sorry I haven’t asked...”   
  
“He’s doing better.” Mya’s head bobbed. “He’s home from the hospital now, and he’s doing well. He wants to go back to work, but Selmy wants him a little more buffed up before he starts out on the streets again. Plus, he’s got a lot of paperwork to do.” Mya forced herself to stop talking - she was rambling about things Margaery couldn’t possibly care about.   
  
The older woman was nodding patiently, though. “You take care of him, yeah? You’ve both been through one hell of an ordeal.”   
  
“I know...and I’m sorry about that night Ro-...Detective Stark and I were here. I know I overstepped my bounds and was disrespectful to your brother-” Her cheeks still blazed as she thought about how brazen they’d been, and when she realized it had only been 9 days...   
  
Margaery was holding up a flawlessly manicured hand. “Stop. You were terrified, and Loras knows that. If he was in your position, he would’ve done the same thing. Any one of us would have.” She smiled gently. “No harm, no foul, alright?”   
  
Mya nodded. “Alright....thank you.” She glanced down at the paper again. “Can...can I keep this? I’d like to send it to my mother - they don’t get the  _Lantern_ up there.”   
  
“Absolutely! I’ll talk to Tarly down in the print shop and see if he can’t get you a few more copies. How many do you want? Five?”   
  
Mya thought fast, and nodded. “Five sounds perfect, thanks.”   
  
“You’ll have them tomorrow. Now get out of here, alright?”   
  
\------------------------   
  
Despite the chilly, late-October breeze, the Riverwalk was still crowded. Carved pumpkins flickered with candlelight all along the cobblestone sidewalk, and many of the cafes had hung paper skeletons and bedsheet ghosts among the fairy lights in the yew trees.    
  
Theon leaned back in his wrought iron chair, setting his steaming mug down on the table and glancing at Mya. She pressed her lips together - he looked exhausted. He wasn’t sleeping much, that much she knew, and she’d taken to staying the night with him when she could. Nightmares would rip him out of his sleep, bolting him upright, and usually it would take hours for him to fall back asleep. Sometimes he didn’t, and those nights were the worst.    
  
Theon had loosened his tie as he always did just after getting out of work, popping the first few buttons of his shirt open, and from where Mya sat she could a livid red scar hook across his chest. Beneath his clothes, the roadmap of scars and stitches was healing slowly, but it was healing. Theon didn’t like looking at them. Every morning when he dressed he’d do it facing away from the mirror, and he’d flinch away from her if she touched them. He’d stopped rolling his sleeves up as well, owing to the particularly thick gash running up his left arm even though it was still hidden by the cast holding his broken hand together..   
  
“What?” She’d been staring, and he nudged the back of her hand with a finger.    
  
“Sorry, I was just thinking.” Mya took a sip of her hot chocolate and squeezed his fingers.   
  
“‘bout what?” He squeezed back, running his thumb over her knuckles, and her mind flailed for an answer that didn’t involve his scars of new sleeping habit.   
  
She lit upon an answer and worked a guilty smile onto her face. “My article. If I should’ve written it, or given it to Lannister.”   
  
Theon shifted in his chair, momentarily pulling his hand away to rub at an itch on his chest before stopping - the doctor had told him not to scratch. It’d pull the stitches open. He laced his fingers through hers again, shaking his head and smiling sharply. “Nah, doll, that was some top-notch writing. And...” he shrugged, looking at the mosaic tile of the tabletop. “You did those girls a favor.”   
  
Mya looked closely at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze. She smiled slightly and set her mug down. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”   
  
He did look up then, his grey eyes clear but troubled. “I do, but not if it’s going to get you in trouble, dove. Mrs. Darry can’t be pleased with you spending so much time with me instead of at the dorm, and you  do have schoolwork.” His eyebrows knit together as she started giggling. “What?”   
  
Mya shook her head. “You just sound like my mother.” She leaned over and pecked his cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Mrs. Darry’s relaxed with you lately, and I can do my schoolwork over at your place if you’re so concerned about my grades. Not that you  should be,” she added. “I’ve gotten nothing but straight As since I was twelve years old.”   
  
The shadow lingering on Theon’s face flittered away and he chuckled, still wincing just a bit. “Show-off. Alright then, my little schoolgirl, let’s go get your hornbooks and pencils so you don’t fall behind.”    
  
Mya’s giggle bled into her laugh as they stood, and Theon helped her into her coat. “My  _grandmother_ had a hornbook, you goose. I’ve got actual, bound text, thank you.” She turned and kissed him lightly. It was good to hear him joking again. It gave her some hope that maybe, someday, things would be back to normal. The kiss lingered, and his hand tightened at the small of her back, pulling her closer. Mya rose on her tiptoes, her body brushing against his and suddenly he was pulling away, face twisted in pain.    
  
“Son of a  _bitch_ ,” he grunted. “These Goddamn fucking stitches...”   
  
Mya took a step back. “Oh Theon, I’m sorry-” He was shaking his head, struggling to pull his wallet out of his left pocket with his right hand, and she could see his frustration growing. Mya laid a hand on his arm and slid her own hand into his pocket, ignoring the scandalized look she got from two old biddies at the next table over. She extracted his wallet and tossed a few bills from it onto the table.   
  
Theon glowered as he took the battered leather wallet from her. “I should at least be able to take my own Goddamn wallet out of my own Goddamn pocket without having to look like an invalid.” He rammed the wallet in his pocket and started down the sidewalk, leaving Mya to trot after him. She caught his good arm and tugged lightly.    
  
“You’re not an invalid, Theon, and everyone knows that. You just...you just need a little help right now, is all.” She kept her tone low, and saw his scowl deepen.   
  
“I’m a grown man, Mya.”   
  
“I know,” she responded patiently. “And even grown men need help every once in awhile.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder. The muscles there were tense, hard as rocks. “The doctors all say you’re healing up well. That cast will be off in a few more weeks, and the stitches’ll be out long before then, and then you’ll be good as new.” She made her tone bright, hoping it would help.   
  
Theon dug in his pocket for his car keys. “Yeah, ‘cept I’ll still wake up screaming like some kid scared of the dark.”   
  
“Then I’ll help you get back to sleep.” Mya said simply. “Just like I have been.”   
  
He turned towards her then, an angry retort on his lips, but as she watched it faded and fled, leaving him looking slightly drained and, dare she think it, ashamed? He sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, and Mya nearly had to pick her jaw off the ground. Theon Greyjoy  _never_ admitted anyone else was right, at least not in her hearing. She saw his jaw working, as he glanced away. When he looked at her again most of the anger was gone. He smiled a bit wryly and gingerly pulled her close, planting a kiss along her hairline. “Where’d I find you, anyway?”   
  
“You paid Jory Cassel to play hooky so you could ogle Roslin Frey’s sweet innocent roommate.”   
  
She heard him chuckle. “Ah yes, that’s right. Best twenty bucks I ever spent.”   
  
Mya couldn’t help but laugh, pulling away to look at him. “Twenty dollars? Boy, you  _really_ must’ve had a hankering for a funnel cake that night!”   
  
Theon reached around her to unlock the passenger side. “Among other things.”    
  
An hour later Mya’s schoolbooks sat untouched on the floor in Theon’s bedroom, and the two of them sat cross-legged on his bed, a checkerboard between them and cartons of Chinese take-out surrounding them. He wore loose cotton pajama pants and his undershirt, and she the pajama top that went with his pants. “Pass me one of those tentacle things,” Theon gestured towards one carton with a set of chopsticks, studying the checkerboard.   
  
Mya obliged, smiling around a mouthful of crab rangoon and tucking her bare legs under her. “I don’t understand how you can be so good at chess, and so lousy at checkers. It’s so much easier!”   
  
Theon shot her a look, stabbing a calamari ring with a chopstick. “You cheat, that’s why.”   
  
“I never!” Mya laughed. “ _You_ overthink it. It’s easy. Watch.” Setting aside her carton, she took a checker piece and within a quick move, had jumped four of Theon’s. “There. King me.”   
  
Theon pressed his mouth into a thin line, swallowing the calamari. “That’s it, we’re playing chess.”   
  
Mya leaned over the checkerboard and planted a kiss on his lips. He cupped her face with his good hand, running his thumb over her cheekbone. She pulled away when his lips parted and he started shifting on the bed, moving to pull her against him. She touched her forehead to his. “We can’t...not with the-”   
  
“-stitches.” He finished tightly. “I remember.” Theon swept the checkers off the board and climbed off the bed, rooting around in the small closet just outside his room and returning with a box of chess pieces. “Alright. Set it up. Loser does the dishes.”   
  
Mya rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Detective.”   
  
Theon chuckled bitterly. “I haven’t been doing much detecting as of late, and you know it. I’ve been up to my ass in paperwork, and you and I’ve  _still_ got that inquiry to go to before the D.A. on Saturday. I don’t know what they expect us to tell them that we haven’t already.”   
  
“Oh, you know how the bureaucrats are, especially Stannis Baratheon.” Mya reached out and brushed a lock of hair off Theon’s forehead. “We’ll just go and tell them what they want to hear, and they’ll put Roose Bolton away for a long, long time. And then that’ll be that.”   
  
Theon gazed at her across the board, fingertip circling the top of a pawn and an odd smile playing about his features. “That’ll be that.”   
  
  
\------------------------   
“Miss Stone, a word if you have a moment...” Tyrion Lannister  called out as the rest of Mya’s class shuffled out the door, a few shooting jealous looks her way.  Mya paused and folded her coat over her arm, glancing at the clock. She had to be to work in twenty minutes, and she’d be lucky to make it with traffic.    
  
Tyrion followed her gaze and smiled. “No worries, I won’t keep you long. I’ve been in touch with your overseers at the paper. They’re quite impressed with you, you know.”   
  
Mya ducked her head, trying to hide both her pleased smile and her blush. “Thank you...and I meant to thank you for giving them my name, as well.”   
  
“It was my pleasure, to be sure. I hope you don’t mind me giving them the article, but I take it from the fact you didn’t hunt me down and smother me in my sleep...” He trailed off, eyebrows arched.   
  
“No, I don’t mind,” Mya laughed. “I just...next time, give me some head’s up, yeah?”   
  
“It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, is what I say.” Tyrion grabbed his briefcase off his desk and ushered her towards the door. “And hopefully there won’t  _be_ a next time for an article quite like that. I can’t even begin to imagine what those poor girls went through. And your detective, as well.” His mismatched eyes peered up at her. “Try and keep the fare a little lighter next time. I’d rather have you waste your talents on fashion or reporting on celebrity trash like my sister, for example, than hunting down murders. Leave that to the police, right?”   
  
Mya sighed, tugging on her coat.  _One minute he’s practically telling me to look into Ned Stark’s murder and now he’s telling me to leave those to the police_ . “You need to make up your mind, Professor. Weren’t you the one who suggested I check out what happened to Ned Stark and Bob Baratheon?”   
  
Tyrion winced and shrugged. “I did, yes. But I can’t help but think, in light of recent events, that you leave the actual investigating to the police.”   
  
“I see.” Mya couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.   
  
Tyrion stopped, turning to gaze evenly up at her. “I also think, in light of recent events, that the police sometimes need a little help aiming them in the right direction with certain  _other_ investigations. Say, for example, the direction of City Hall.” Mya raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. “In particular,  _I_ know of a certain drawer in a certain brother of mine’s office that requires a combination code to open. And I’d be willing to bet my next month’s fun money that there’s something in there that would help you help your detective figure out what happened to his foster father.”

  
Mya’s eyebrows raised even further. “I’d be willing to bet  _my_ next month’s grocery allowance that a certain brother of yours would not be so willing to hand over anything in that drawer to anyone, particularly not me.”   
  
Tyrion thought for a moment. “You believe that information belongs to the people, right?” Mya nodded, ignoring fact that she had glazed over details of Ramsay Bolton’s death in her own article, and he went on. “Sometimes, in order to get what is ours, we have to  _take_ what is ours. You understand?” Mya nodded again, mutely and not believing what she was hearing.  _This worked out so well the first time_ ... “Now, I’m not condoning theft, not by any means. But, hypothetically speaking, if you happened to, I don’t know, be in City Hall after hours, and if you happened to check the doorframe of a certain brother of mine’s office, I dare say you’d find a spare key taped there that would be very beneficial.”   
  
“And the combination?”   
  
Tyrion shrugged. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can find a way around that.” He winked. “Again, this is all hypothetical. Now,” he checked his pocketwatch. “you have a job to do, don’t you?”   
  
“That I do, Professor.” Mya smiled a bit indulgently and bid him farewell, having to run to catch a cab.  _ He has to be nuts if he expects me to, what, hide out in a janitor’s closet until the middle of the night, break into Jaime Lannister’s office  and do a little safecracking on what essentially is a hunch. _ Mya tried to put the thought out of her mind, but part of it lingered there like a bad aftertaste.  _He’s crazy._   
\------------------------   
  
Three weeks later, Mya tucked herself into a plush seat in an equally plush passenger train car, setting her handbag on the seat next to her. Theon flung himself into the seat next to her, glancing out the window. “So how long of a trip is it again?” he asked.   
  
Mya shrugged. “Three hours, maybe? Four? We’re supposed to get there by seven, or at least that’s what I told my mom.” She tucked her hand into his, privately glad his cast was off at last. He laced his fingers through hers, chuckling.   
  
“So what’re we supposed to do for three or four hours on a train with no sleeper cars?”   
  
“Well, I’ve got a deck of cards in my purse, and you know I’ve wanted to teach you how to play Sheepshead.” Mya grinned as Theon rolled his eyes.   
  
“And  _you_ know that the only card game I’m interested in playing with you are ones where you wear progressively less and less clothing. Tell you what - why don’t you regale me with tales of how you talked your way into my sister’s club again  _and_ lied to my boss?” Theon grinned sharply at her. “That’s starting to become my favorite bedtime story, y’know.”

  
“Hush, you.” Mya glanced around the crowded train car. With Thanksgiving being the next day, many folks were travelling out of the city. “Not a  _word_ about that when we get to Eyrie, understand? Not a word.”   
  
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me twice, dove. You want me to make a good impression on your ma, right?”   
  
“Preferably.” Mya tucked her head under his chin as the train jerked and started to move. “So try not to swear. And we’re not allowed to sleep in the same room, of course.”   
  
She heard him grumble. “This trip is getting worse and worse and we’ve hardly started.” He kissed the top of her head. “Remind me why we’re going again?”   
  
“Green bean casserole.” Her hand drifted lightly over his stomach and ribs, and her fingers could still pick out far too many bones. “And turkey, mashed potatoes, pie, her corn muffins...”   
  
“Alright, alright. Jeez. Just get on with the story already before I start drooling.” He draped his arm over her shoulder, letting his fingers trace over her arm lightly. “Go on.”   
  
Mya smiled and started recounting her tale, and the train wound north and north and north again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wraps up this installment of the story, but stay tuned for more AU goodness and as always, thanks for reading!


End file.
